


Certain Dark Things

by NommeDeGuerre



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 91,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NommeDeGuerre/pseuds/NommeDeGuerre
Summary: For years, Kylo Ren and Armitage Hux have been predators. Focussed only on the thrill of the kill and their dark, competitive passion for one another, they have slaughtered without mercy. Although investigated by the best minds the FBI can field, no one appears to close to ending their murderous spree.Until the day Kylo Ren sets his sights on cocky FBI Agent Poe Dameron as their next victim, setting off a chain of events that will lead to the spilling of secrets, escalating violence, and a fight for survival where it becomes increasingly unclear who is the hunter and the hunted.





	1. Chapter One: Once You Cross A Certain Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago, ~~in a galaxy far, far away~~ , somebody posted a prompt on the TFA Kink Meme (I think)... asking for a Serial Killer!AU in which Kylo Ren and Hux were murder!husbands expressing their romance through an extremely disturbing crime spree.
> 
> I'll admit, this is not something I thought I would write, but slowly the little cogs in my brain started whirling and I now have... many, many pages of fic. It's not quite finished in draft, but it is nearly there. I will complete it, but I wanted to at the very least post the first chapter, which could also function as a stand-alone drabble.
> 
> Given the subject matter, please see the End Notes for more detailed trigger warnings.
> 
> This fic is not trying to be original, but should be treated as a homage to many, many detective series that I've watched/read and enjoyed over the years.

**Certain Dark Things**

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_\---_

**Chapter One**

**Once You Cross a Certain Line**

_'His hands were clean, but his heart and soul were black,  
'Cause once you cross a certain line, there ain't no coming back.'_

\---

Hux was pissed. Really God damned pissed. Kylo didn't think he’d ever seen him this fucking angry. His pale skin was blanched with fury, cheeks colourless as he hissed, "What the hell were playing at?" Hux's lips caught on his canines and Kylo was momentarily distracted, inexplicably turned on by the strange motion. "Ren, will you damned well concentrate? What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

Hux was wearing some sort of tight fitting black top and trousers. They were hugging his skin, hinting luridly at the compact muscles concealed beneath. Kylo was going to answer. In a moment. When he finished staring. Hux was such a fucking tease. He knew full well what he looked like, how Kylo reacted when he began lecturing him. Unable to hold back, Kylo pulled himself up to his full height and took a step closer, looming threateningly over his companion.

Hux's next words died in his mouth as he reconsidered the situation. One sentence might have been swallowed, but the weakness was momentary. Kylo took a second and a third pace. Hux held his ground, chin jutting out and nostrils flaring with rage. In Kylo's head, he was a celebrated animal whisperer about to tame a mighty predator. One wrong move was likely to be his last mistake. He reached out with a hand encased in black leather, resting his fingers softly against Hux's cheek. His skin was dusted with a faint hint of auburn stubble. Not shaved this morning, too busy clearing up Kylo's newest mess.

Neither moved to further the contact. Hux breathed heavily, progressing slowly but steadily towards explosive frustration. Kylo knew he needed to speak, to stem the tide as best he could. "I did it for you," the words tumbled out without prior thought or practise. He was surprised at his own candidness, or guile. Hux remained expressionless. Too late to back out now. "For you," he repeated, "I wanted- Together- Our first-" He shrugged, dropping his outstretched arm and scuffing at the stony ground with the toe of a black boot. He'd never found expressing himself with words easy.

"Let's pretend for a minute I understand what the hell you mean. Why the fuck did you choose _him_?"

"He's hunting me. You. Us. I thought it would be perfect. Send them a message."

God, Hux was too tired for this shit. He pulled away from Ren's hand, rubbing wearily at his dry eyes in the heat. "You've kidnapped an FBI Agent. Do you think they're going to just ignore that? To keep bumbling along like they have before? You've made it personal and now they'll hunt us down like animals."

Kylo placed his hands behind his back, pacing a little to the left and right. He even tried to look like he was paying attention to the counterarguments. Then, once Hux finished speaking, "Did you hear him scream?"

A deep, delicious feeling stirred with an ugly hunger in the pit of Hux's stomach. Kylo padded nearer, voice barely above a whisper, "Have you even looked at him properly? He's got dark hair, big brown eyes. And a _mouth_ like you wouldn't believe." He was standing directly behind Hux, watching intently as the man's shoulders became more and more tense.

Conscious that he was just about winning the battle, Kylo pressed himself smoothly against Hux's back. A hot presence, whispering temptations into his ear, "He's not going to beg you to stop at the first sign of a knife. He'll hold his head up, high and proud. If we let him loose, he'd fight tooth and claw for freedom. How long has it been since you killed someone with a spine? Don't you want to see what it'll take to make him crack, to plead for his life?

"If you really like him," Kylo took the liberty of grinding his hips against Hux's rear, demonstrating the extent of his building need, "we could take him first. Fuck him. Humiliate him. Make him _want_ it. Aren't you already imagining how you might leave him? You could write poetry with his corpse."

Hux shuddered. He'd briefly glanced at the figure showing in grainy detail on the monitor in front of them. Cursory, almost like a machine, to absorb the data. Smaller than him, but fit and well-muscled. Probably warm, golden skin with matching dark hair, but difficult to pinpoint exactly in black and white. They could both see he'd already woken up, had been fighting the after effects of Kylo's drugs for a while.

And Kylo was right… He was hunting them. They'd both seen him on media coverage from Kylo's most recent slaughter. Something about him peaked Hux's interest, but he hadn't breathed a word. It was almost flattering (or concerning) how well Ren read him, how he must have observed the tiniest of signals – a clenched fist, quickened breathing, pupils dilated. It should be frightening that there was a man on this earth that knew him so intimately. God knew Hux had enough secrets to protect.

But right now, caution drifted away with the stirrings of a sluggish breeze. There was a man tied up in their newest hideout and he was begging to be hurt, to experience the smallest taste of the pain the pair of them would eventually bring.

Primly, Hux withdrew himself from Ren's reach, twisting his mouth into a familiar sneer. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd been won over so quickly. "You've got ten minutes," he said shortly, "to convince me about the Agent. You've already called a shit storm down on us, so he'd better be everything that you've promised."

The air around them was muggy. A thin sheen of sweat clung to the pale skin of Kylo's face, but he was oblivious to the discomfort, oblivious to Hux's threats. His eyes had taken on a faraway quality – he was already caught up in the intoxication of the violence ahead. Hux turned his pale blue eyes to the monitor; this was going to be _delightful_ to watch.

\---

_'Don’t go holding your breath;_  
_You know I'm not done yet._  
_There's still a fight in me left._  
_Don't go shouting out loud_  
_That you're claiming the crown;_  
_I'm down, but not out.'_

\---

The first thought that crossed Special Agent Poe Dameron's mind when he woke up was that he was bloody uncomfortable. The second was that he was utterly screwed. His head felt like mush, as though someone had made mashed potatoes with his brains. It took a few minutes for his vision to clear sufficiently to even begin processing his surroundings.

It looked like he was in some sort of rundown old church. The sides seemed to be made of thin panels of corrugated metal, marbled with rich orange rust. The pews were nothing more than rough wooden benches, some of which were on their sides or already rotting away in places. In fact, the whole place reeked of abandonment and decay. Small windows on each side – that is, square holes cut into the metal – seemed to let the natural world in to run rampant, whilst choked patches of sunlight struggled to dapple the ochre earth floor.

Plants tumbled through the gaps, growing with the rich vociferousness of weeds. Already on the dirt floor of the church, tufts of dry grasses were springing up. Hauntingly, piles of what looked like bibles and hymn books still lay at the back beside the door-

Poe paused. What was he doing? He needed to be assessing useful shit right now. Like entrances. Exits. His bindings. Testing for weaknesses, not waxing lyrical about weeds and mouldy paper.

Going back to that crime scene on his own didn't seem like such a hot idea anymore. But then, how was he supposed to know something (or someone) unfriendly was going to be stupid enough to come back there? Fragments of his capture returned – the press of a strong arm across his stomach, the rough scratch of fabric against his face, the sickly-sweet smell of chloroform, and a deep voice mockingly soothing him to sleep.

Fuck, he'd made himself such an easy target. His ears burned with embarrassment. How many years on the job and the bastard had taken him quickly, silently, and without exposing his face.

But right. Survival. Dust spores swirled in the pockets of light, illuminating sections of the bindings that kept Poe in place. Poetically (and, he suspected, purposefully), he'd been placed where the altar must once have stood. His arms were stretched out wide, drawing his body upwards until he was forced to uncomfortably rise onto his toes to spare his shoulders some strain. His ankles were bound with the same type of rope, drawn a little way apart.

Finally, someone had taken the liberty of stuffing a cloth in his mouth and binding that tightly against his face. It was absorbing all the moisture and leaving him with an extremely dry throat. Poe held a dark suspicion this would soon be the least of his worries.

For a moment, he paused to appreciate the path of events that had led him to this awful predicament. His involvement with an FBI Team currently on what felt like a fruitless hunt for a serial killer. The murders were brutal affairs – an orgy of violence directed towards an unprotected body, often weak victims totally unable to fight back. Powerful blows with a variety of blunt instruments that crushed soft tissue. In fact, the killings had been so viciously chaotic it had taken a long time to realise it might _be_ a co-ordinated individual and not just a series of bar fights or punch ups gone awry.

Poe did not want to die.

He especially did not want to die like that.

So, the only answer was that he needed to get out.

_Now_.

\---

Kylo allowed the rickety door of the abandoned church to swing open slowly. He enjoyed the dramatic effect provided by the shriek of its rusting hinges; the orange residue oozed from the lifeless joints. It reminded him of the sluggish flow of blood from a congealing wound.

The agent had been struggling. He watched the writhing figure for several minutes with Hux. During his useless squirming, the man's t-shirt rode up to reveal several inches of vulnerable, toned stomach. They'd both gazed at that in silent appreciation. Unwrapping him, exposing his skin was going to be delicious.

Kylo couldn't remember being this excited about a kill for a long time.

Usually his affairs were swift and brutal. He watched his targets, sure. But just for a few days. Enough to establish a lack of family, lack of steady job, lack of anything that would cause someone to miss the sorry worm straight away. Satisfied there would be a large enough time lag to allow a comfortable escape, he'd then precede with the hunt. Usually it was a case of opportunity – dark alley, lone walks – anything. Kylo wasn't fussy. Sometimes he hid the bodies; sometimes he left them where they fell, ferreting through pockets to take personal effects and make it look like a mugging gone wrong.

With the agent, he'd broken his practice and was still unable to explain why. An operation like this – requiring movement of unconscious bodies, tricky targets, and the acquisition of a safe location for the protracted kill were much more Hux's calling. But Kylo had been listening, learning.

They'd never done anything together before and he was certain Hux wouldn't be all that keen to stalk a worthless drunkard down a filthy backstreet. But looking at Dameron's muscles, absorbing the strength and vitality of his face, Kylo couldn't help but wonder if he’d been missing a trick. Perhaps this was why his kills always left him with that insatiable hunger? He'd not challenged himself sufficiently, not taken enough pride in the artistry.

The man in front of him, pretending to be brave and strong, had no idea how special he was, the treat he was in for to as the specially selected target of himself _and_ Hux.

His face covered in a black balaclava, Kylo paced slowly up the aisle towards the disfigured altar. Poe stopped struggling, eyeing him instead with an intense anxiety. It made Kylo feel powerful, a heady rush knowing he held all the decisions on life, death, and pain here. He stopped a couple of metres short, eyeing their newest victim with a dark gaze, "Comfortable?"

The cloth in Dameron’s mouth made it difficult for him to answer, but a muffled comment and the accompanying sardonic frown got the message across. He was not comfortable, apparently. To imagine their hospitality left something to be desired.

"I understand from your identification that you're an FBI Agent. A Special Agent, no less. How impressive."

\---

Poe glowered. His captor couldn't have sounded more insulting or dismissive if he'd tried. On the plus side, the crazy idiot gestured towards a pile of Poe's effects when he spoke. On the front row pew, Poe could see his jacket, badge, phone, and gun. This guy was a cocky piece of shit. He clearly didn't think Poe was going to be able to free himself anytime soon. His equipment was there to taunt him, remind him how stupidly helpless he was.

Or so his captor thought. Poe forced himself to do anything but look up to the loose section of masonry somewhere off to his left. A metal bracket had been clumsily lodged into the wall, ready to take one loop of the rope raising Poe's arm. A bit of wiggling and Poe was pretty sure that was going to come out. With rope knots the only thing to contend with, the agent would consider his chances more favourable.

Depending on what happened during this conversation, of course.

Next to Poe's jacket was a wicked looking piece of old metal piping – maybe taken from the decrepit guttering he imagined running around the outside of such a sorry structure.

The masked man caught where Poe's attention was focused. He let out of a soft, dark chuckle. It made the hairs on the back of Poe's neck stand on end. He stalked a few paces further forwards – close enough to touch. Close enough for Poe to hear the fabric of his black clothes rustling, the soft exhale of his breathing, and to consider his rather intimidating stature. This fucker was tall and, whilst it was difficult to tell from the bulk of his clothing, well built.

Poe wasn't bad in a scrap, but he did not fancy his odds in a one on one fight with this dude. No wonder he'd overpowered him without much apparent effort.

"I suppose this one-sided conversation could get tedious." Poe's drifting thoughts were pulled back to the immediate danger with an unpleasant lurch. The man grasped his chin, fingers encased in what felt like thick, black leather. Wasn't he boiling in all those clinging layers? Meeting Poe's eyes with his own dark pupils, he instructed, "At the risk of sounding cliché, you can scream or shout all you like. There is literally no one else around to hear you. The gag was mostly for my comfort and-"

He paused, tone changing to something that made Poe want to squirm out of his grip until he was miles away and able to scald the infected skin in a boiling shower, "-and for the aesthetic effect." The fingers stroked down the side of Poe’s face. He winced as they scraped over his temple, becoming aware that he must have sustained a wound there at some point. The man tutted, as though chiding a clumsy child.

Without warning, the grip changed. Seizing hold of Poe's thick hair, his captor forced his head back. The unnatural angle drew him up onto his toes, forcing a noise of shocked discomfort from his lips. A second hand deftly unknotted the fabric behind Poe's head, drawing it out along with the wad of fabric stuffed inside his mouth to absorb unwanted sounds.

Poe gazed at the sodden cloth with dazed eyes, almost too numb with shock to care much about what happened next. With a movement that communicated distaste, the man dropped the fabric on the nearest pew. Moving his mouth on reflex, Poe coaxed his tongue back into life. "I mean, I could have the wrong idea… but if this is how you pick up a date, you might want to rethink your technique."

In response, the masked man withdrew and flicked open a vicious looking pocket knife. In the hot sun, the blade glinted like cool water. Abruptly, Poe realised he had a raging thirst. How long since he'd had a drink? Anything to eat? He didn't even know what day it was.

"I'd advise you to remain very still." While Poe had been busy fighting off the first stages of panic, the stranger approached him again. He stiffened when he felt the cool surface of the metal rest against his face, the tip of the blade just visible at the bottom of his vision. Fuck. Poe did not want that anywhere near his face, never mind his damned eye. Casually, his captor drew the point down his cheek, tracing his chin and over his Adam's apple until it came to rest at the top of his t-shirt.

Once pristine – clean, ironed, and brilliantly white – it was now stained and drenched with sweat. With a smooth rip, Poe found the front of his top sliced in half right down the middle. He clenched his teeth, the first stirrings of anger making themselves known. He knew this game. It was about humiliation, designed to teach him who was in control. Well, let the bastard strip him. Poe had no qualms about his body – this wasn't his choice and he wasn't going to subscribe to the guilt and shame he was supposed to feel.

Fundamentally, this man was a bully and Poe hated bullies with a passion that could almost be described as religious.

As if sensing the challenge, the man continued his work. Dragging the tip of the knife along various parts of Poe's chest before making another cut. In a couple of minutes, Poe felt the tattered remains of his t-shirt slip to the floor and the first burn of several shallow scratches. He raised a heavy eyebrow, tone unimpressed, "I will not be intimidated by you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings:** Given the subject matter, the expected warnings for violence, blood, explicit sexual situations, and general messed-up-ness apply here. There are also threats of and references to non-con in this chapter.
> 
> **Title Reference:** _XVII: I Do Not Love You_ , Pablo Neruda
> 
> **Song References:** _Red_ , Christian Williams  
>  _Silhouette_ , Birdy


	2. Chapter Two: Fifty Words for Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for comments/kudos on the first chapter! Feedback - positive and constructive - is always really appreciated!
> 
> As per the overall warnings for the fic, there is some violence in this chapter, but nothing overly graphic.

**Chapter Two**

**Fifty Words for Murder**

_'Throw the bait, catch the shark, bleed the water red;_  
_Fifty words for murder and I'm every one of them._  
_My touch is black and poisonous.'_

_\---_

Kylo shivered with pleasure at the defiance. He hoped Hux was watching this. Hoped he'd understand the quality of the gift on offer. Dameron was mouthy, cocky, stupidly brave. He was going to fight tooth and nail, but he was also  _beautiful_. Never had Kylo taken the time to strip one of his kills, had the opportunity to admire the ripple of muscle down a back, the tense bulging of developed biceps, or the delicate curves of a toned chest.

A dusty path of dark hair on Dameron's stomach marked the way to greater treasures. Hux would need to be with him soon, his urge for blood and pain was building to a near frenzy. Dameron had no idea exactly what his taunts and boasts were stirring into life. He'd regret it. He was going to wish he'd never been born.

He drank in the sight of Dameron's vulnerable chest with greed. The unmarred flesh covered in a sheen of sweat, it called to him like a blank canvas to an artist. He wanted to hear screams, not vapid quips. It was time to remind the agent of the situation he was in, of whose company he kept. Kylo reached down for the piping. It was all part of the ritual for him, finding the instrument to inflict the damage he longed for. It had to be something that suited his surroundings, that suited his prey.

Dameron's eyes widened with fear and he wisely fell silent. Voice gravelled with anticipation, Kylo explained, "I'm going to give you a choice. Which part of your body is going to be the first to feel the force of my strikes? Ribs, leg, or arm?" He'd get them all in the end; they both understood that. This was all part of the illusion, to feed Dameron a false line of hope that he could maybe survive a certain amount of damage, control it even.

Silence. "If you don't answer, I'll hit all three in succession. Choose."

It was sweet. He could almost hear the gears cranking in the agent's head, trying to assess which was least likely to compromise him. Kylo wanted to shake his head. What did Dameron think he was saving himself for? They both knew he wouldn't be leaving this rundown, sorry excuse for a building alive. "Arm," Dameron muttered finally, silent calculations ending.

Kylo shrugged. Stalking slowly round to the back of his victim and trailing the tip of the piping along the line of his lower ribs, he paused. He wanted the anticipation to build. Let Dameron wait in agony for whatever to befall him, to try so heroically to prepare himself for the coming pain. It was always the same, but Kylo never grew tired of the pleasurable rush through his body. This was the first blight he was about to inflict on a perfect whole. From now on, Dameron would be infected with his touch, marked for his final fate.

Kylo raised his arm, the brief rush of air the only warning Dameron had as the blow descended. He smashed the metal just below the man's elbow, raining down several frenzied strikes until he was sure he'd broken the bone there. Emitting only a pained grunt with the first, Dameron all but screamed by the end. Kylo watched him clench his jaw and tangle his fingers around the ropes, trying to get the sounds under control, determined to show only minimal weakness. He wondered what Hux would be thinking, staring at Dameron's taught body alive with pain.

Satisfied his initial point was made, Kylo padded softly under the injured limb. He returned the piping to the bench, keen to see in the future what it would look like spattered red with blood. Dameron's lower arm was already swelling and purpling and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. It didn't matter. He'd make a beautiful show when he wept for them both in the end.

Taking hold of the agent's chin one last time, Kylo jerked it playfully, "A sensible choice – the arm. Difficult to run, of course, with a broken leg. Difficult to run if your ribs are cracked and you can't breathe. Running with a broken arm though… that might just about be manageable. But tell me, Special Agent Dameron, where exactly were you planning on running? I'm afraid you're a little tied up." He laughed before patting Poe's cheek patronisingly and turning on his heel to walk out.

\---

Kylo's pupils were blown wide when he left the main area of the church to find Hux in the rundown entrance area. A rickety table carried their tiny monitor, power provided by a portable generator. Hux's grip on the edge of the table was so tense it looked painful.

Definitely a good sign.

"I'm still pissed off. The only reason we've survived this long is by picking targets carefully, staying under the radar. Now the whole fucking FBI is going to be on us. You took one of their own. You made it personal."

Ren shrugged, unperturbed. He'd been careful when he attacked Dameron. The idiot made his job that much easier by returning alone to territory Kylo knew like the back of his hand from previous recces. They had time to make it worth it. "You like him though, don't you?" Pressing roughly against Hux's back, Kylo rested his chin on the curve of his neck. Together they watched the faint, grainy image of Dameron struggling with the ropes that kept him in place, struggling with the pain from his broken arm.

"He's going to resist every step of the way. When we hold him down, just think of the way his body will move." A kiss behind the ear, gentle and hot simultaneously. Hux shuddered despite himself, tasking a deep inhale of the humid, earth-scented air. "Where do you think we’ll find those sensitive spots? What do you think will make him cry first?"

Trapped in position by Kylo's obnoxiously long arms, Hux whirled around. His lips were white with what looked like anger, but Kylo knew better. Snarling, they met in a passionate kiss. Hux drew the body above him closer, biting at Ren's lips with a vengeance. There was a body, a new canvas so close, but Hux couldn't go in there now. They were both too hot under the collar, too excited by crossing this most recent taboo. It was time to cool off, let Dameron fester in agony.

Gripping the front of Kylo's black long-sleeved shirt, Hux all but dragged him up onto his toes. "Van. Now." Hux was halfway to the gaping hole meant to represent a door, ignoring Kylo in favour of slaking his own burning lust. He missed the triumphant look Ren fixed at his back and the lingering, last dark stare at the monitor. Inwardly, Kylo rejoiced. His red-headed lover pretended to be all about control, all about caution, but Kylo knew he wouldn't be able to resist the perfect package Dameron presented.

It was why he'd been watching the agent for some time now, planning and waiting to make his move. He ambled after Hux, his feet scraping in the warm brown earth.

He hoped they would have enough time to make this last, oh so sweet and oh so slow.

Literally the perfect kill.

\---

Poe kept his eyes firmly closed at his attacker's final taunt, knowing that if he opened them – he wouldn't be able to avoid flicking up to that loose bracket. This was not how it was going to end up – him beaten to a pulp at the mercy of a psychopath who got off on the pain and gore. Poe was going to take this fucker down if it killed him.

Pun  _not_  intended.

A broken arm threw a significant spanner in the works. It was difficult to surmount the pain and use his remaining strength to tug on the bracket. But if Poe wanted to survive this, he was going to have to find a way.

If this was the killer his team had spent months following, his timescale wasn't long and drawn out. In fact, Poe was surprised to still be alive. Kidnap and capture hadn't really been the MO the profiling team laid out. Nor was the sexual element. Something didn't feel right, but Poe didn't have time to linger on theory. He had a small window of opportunity. Kill or be killed.

Gritting his teeth, he jerked his broken arm with all the power he could muster, wondering why the bastard had to go for  _this_ arm first. A trickle of white dust poured from the bracket and the tension of the rope holding his arm in place considerably slackened. Allowing himself a couple of deep breaths, Poe pulled again. The metal pin moved at least an inch. More movement. More hope. More adrenaline. Less pain. Go again. Pull. Pull.

Sweat poured from Poe's forehead. He felt his vision swimming, almost overwhelmed by the heat and hurt. Biting the inside of his cheek bloody to force focus, Poe returned to his task. It was only a matter of seconds and then he had to move fast. He didn't know when the murderer would he back. He didn't know if there was any way of monitoring him. What Poe  _did_ know was his plan of action. Loose one hand, work on the knot holding the other hand in place. Both hands free, clear the original rope off his right wrist. Then feet. Released, he needed to get his gun and his phone. Armed he could level the playing field. With his phone, he could call for help. That was his plan and he repeated it over and over and over.

After what felt like an eon, the metal bracket slipped free from the wall. It fell to the floor with a muted thump. Poe moved as though in a daze, working at the knots holding him captive with a purpose he didn't even know he possessed. Stumbling free, Poe gazed at the back of the empty church. He expected that terrifying black spectre to appear at any second, but no one came.

Heart pounding in his chest and sick with fear, Poe raced for his two lifelines. As he took the first tentative steps, he cradled his throbbing arm against his chest to protect it as best he could. Released from his position, Poe now spied another exit tucked away in the corner at the back of the building – right behind where he'd been standing. If he could push his way out of there, he'd decrease the risk of running directly back into the arms of a killer.

Reaching the mouldering pew on unsteady feet, Poe turned his mobile on straight away. At least it would emit some sort of signal – that might help anyone looking for him. He kept his gun clutched loosely in his left hand, thanking his lucky stars that he sometimes did practise in his weaker stance. He wasn't such a good shot this side, but it was passable. He'd certainly hit a fucking six-foot giant. Moving faster as his muscles stretched out, Poe paused only to scoop up the remnants of his gag, wondering – if he got the luxury of time – if that could be fastened into some sort of sling and enable him to run more freely.

The 'door' at the back of the church was little more than an old panel of corrugated iron. Dark green, waxy foliage peeked through the gap underneath, a sliver of white sunlight tormenting him with the prospect of freedom on the other side. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, Poe tugged. Its old hinges were pretty much disintegrated and Poe grunted with shock at finding the whole weight of the metal come to rest on him. Shuffling his legs wider, Poe manoeuvred it as deftly as possible. He hefted a few inches to the right, releasing just enough space for him to squeeze through.

A final glance over his shoulder to check he hadn't been discovered and Poe bolted. Sprinting, Poe knew he needed to cover distance, to get as far as possible and decrease the likelihood of being followed. Low hanging branches scratched at his cheeks and vines teased the bare skin of his chest. He imagined every few seconds hearing an enraged shout and the angry crashing of heavy feet behind him. He ran and ran and ran. Unwilling – perhaps even unable – to stop. The woodland showed no sign of thinning. He must be in the midst of some sort of forest – maybe one of the great swathes of national park? It was the type of place he'd look for if he required isolation.

Jerking his phone out of his pocket, Poe began tapping at the screen. He prayed he still had enough battery, that he would have some sort of cell reception. A couple of tiny bars at the top represented his best chance of survival. Without even pausing to think, he dialled in Assistant Director Organa's number.

Two rings and a desperate voice answered, " _P_ _oe? Poe, is that you?!"_

He didn't recognise the speaker, but figured someone must have been on watch for the phone going, "Yeah. It's me. I'm- You gotta get this phone tracked. I need help."

_"It's fine. We've been trying to locate you since the phone was switched back on earlier. You keep talking, we'll keep working. We're gonna find you ASAP, Poe."_

In the background, Poe heard a muffled discussion. Another voice, taught with strain,  _"Is that him?"_

_"Yes, Ma'am."_

_"Can I speak?"_

_"Of course, but please try and get him to stay on the line."_

A different speaker now and the voice was like balm to Poe's bruises.  _"Dameron?"_

Even in the middle of who knew where with an arm throbbing like an absolute bitch, Poe straightened up, "Ma'am."

_"I think we can leave the formalities. Are you alright?"_

"Little banged up. Broken arm, maybe a concussion. I can run though. How long have I been gone?"

_"Two days. You've been missing nearly 48 hours exactly."_

Poe stumbled, a fragment of shock finally proving just too much, " _Two days?_  I could be anywhere. Shit. How can you get to me? I've got no idea- Where do I go? It all looks the same."

He'd done well to keep it together up until now, but Leia could tell from the way his voice raised in pitch and the shallow breathing that Poe was coming close to losing it.  _"Dameron, you listen to me."_ She waited for him to respond clearly before continuing,  _"You keep going. You find a road, great. Walk parallel to it, not on it. You don't get into any vehicle unless I give you the clearance to do it. I don't know if you've forgotten, agent, but I've got access to every bloody cop car, helicopter, and any other form of transport in the country I want. We'll get to you. Understood?"_

"Yes," Poe all but whispered, pathetically grateful that someone else could help take the responsibility for his decisions. The insects buzzed around him aggressively and Poe still couldn't shake the horrible imaginings of feet chasing him, metal piping descending on the back of his head… dragging him back. "Yes, I understand."

_"The longer you're free, the less likely it is anyone will follow. I presume your abductor is aware you've got your phone back?"_

"Probably- I've got my gun as well."

_"It’s too much of a risk to go after you. They'll know we're coming for you. If they want to stay free, they'll need to focus on getting away from the area."_

Stumbling across another set of twisted roots, Poe caught sight of a sandy clearing. On the opposite side, he could see the definite markings of a trail. A tiny shred of hope fluttered in his chest – maybe this place wasn't so eerily deserted after all.

_"Dameron, we've got a lock on you. There are cars on the way. I'll try and direct you towards the road. You've done an incredible job, but I want to see you home."_

\---

 _'I could swear by the blue in the sea and the sky,_  
_It's red and it's black I can see in your eyes._  
_One colour is danger, the other is hate.'_

\---

Hux was apoplectic when they discovered the escape. To be fair, Kylo wasn't that far behind himself. Neither of them had been denied a kill quite so brazenly before. The empty ropes hanging loose mocked them. It was a colossal fuck up.

He kicked the pew where Dameron's jacket lay, took up the metal piping and lashed out at the defenceless wood with all the anger he couldn't contain. The bench disintegrated pleasingly, the soft rotten material unable to put up any kind of resistance. The leather of the jacket was soon covered in splinters and sharp shards of wood Kylo envisaged driving into the agent's calf muscles, making sure he would never be able to run again.

Breathing heavily, some modicum of control returned to Kylo's brain. He stepped back from the bench, pipe falling clumsily from his hands. He looked up to find Hux watching him intently. Kylo expected accusation from his partner, finger pointing, and a dissection of where the blame lay. Instead, Hux said nothing, barely even moved. "The monitor will show when he- when he ran. It can't have been that long ago. He's injured. We can take the van- catch up with him."

Hux started shaking his head even before Kylo finished speaking, "Pointless. He'll have gone into the forest. Can't take the van down there. He's got a weapon and a phone. This place is going to be crawling with feds in hours."

Waiting was difficult, Kylo literally itched to move, to do something. It was better to wait now. Hux was thinking. Kylo was intelligent, a natural born killer, but Hux could strategize like nothing else. He'd be able to get them out of this mess, would be able to clear his mind quicker of emotional fog.

"Dameron didn't see your face, didn't see anything he could use to identify you."

"He's seen my body and heard me speak."

"Not good enough. Decent defence attorney would cut that to pieces. On top of that, he didn't even know I was here. He's got nothing useful, nothing that makes it critical to get him back."

Kylo fumed. He couldn't help the festering rage; he'd never taken well to losing a possession. He viewed Dameron's life as a commodity and it was owed to him in its entirety. Hux raised an eyebrow, which didn't help. He must have pouted. Stupid. He hadn't even realised that was a thing until Hux pointed it out and mocked him thoroughly for it. Fuck's sake. Now he couldn't even be angry in peace.

"I didn't say we wouldn't get him back at some point. Just that it's not worth it this time. We strip this place, torch it, get out of state. As far as possible. Separate and lie low. Then when their guard relaxes, we can regroup."

A little lightbulb flickered to life inside Kylo's head, "You want to hunt him."

Hux stalked over; the fury thrumming through him was much more apparent up close. The signs were tiny, but they were there. Hair slightly mussed, a tick just below his left eye, the tension in his jaw where teeth ground together. "Of course I want to hunt him," snarled his partner, "I want to make him pay for this humiliation. I want to let him live a half-life, terrified of every shadow and fighting with every last shred of his sanity to keep his job. We'll watch, we'll torment, and when he's at his lowest – take him back. I  _want_  him. I want him dead. I  _wanted_  our first kill together to be perfect. Do you think I don’t know what this means to you?"

That made Kylo pause uncertainly. His dark gaze flickered over Hux's face, searching for a deeper meaning behind his words and wondering if he'd slipped up - given away more than he meant to. But Hux kept his expression frustratingly blank, inherently unknowable. He could be so fucking cryptic it made Kylo want to punch the mystery off his smug face. Whatever. They didn't have time for this.

"Fine," he started back up the aisle towards the electrical equipment that would need packing away. A couple of steps along the way and he paused, scooping up Poe's battered jacket without a backward glance. "Fine, but we keep this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song References:** _Victorious_ , Panic! at the Disco  
>  _Please Tell Me_ , Kings of the City


	3. Chapter Three: The Devil's Resting Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your feedback - I find it very encouraging and constructive!
> 
> Another chapter - slightly shorter this week, but it fitted with breaking up the story. Also, no specific/additional trigger warnings this time around. =)

**Chapter Three**

**The Devil's Resting Place**

_'When you come to call on me that's why my eyes are glazed;  
I've been with the devil in the devil's resting place._

_Come up here to speak to me and hold your face to mine;_  
_Any man can hold my gaze has done his job just fine.'_

\---

The next thing Poe knew for certain was the hospital bed. As he stirred from his second round of unwanted unconsciousness, he struggled to make sense of his recent memories. He felt a sharp pang of fear race through his body, jolting him fully awake. His eyes fluttered open, an expression of panic twisting his features as he expected to find his arms bound again, his fate back in the hands of a killer.

Admittedly, being greeted by a mint green woollen blanket did something to allay his terror. Poe took in the sun-drenched room in sections, becoming aware of pale yellow walls and the steady beeping of various monitors circled around the head of his bed. He really allowed himself to relax when he saw a familiar face dozing by his bedside. He didn't quite know what to make of finding Finn there, keeping watch until his not-quite-partner woke up.

Grateful for a few moments alone, Poe attempted to get his thoughts in order. He remembered everything with reasonable clarity until the moment he sank with relief inside a cop car belonging to the local state. The man waited to see reinforcements come up behind his rescue vehicle and to hear his boss promise him repeatedly that he would be okay, that they were coming to him. Everything after that point was lost to a haze of exhaustion, pain, and heat stroke.

On the subject of pain, Poe's body felt curiously absent of any twinges. He glanced down – almost unwillingly – to assess the damage. His right arm was already in a cast. What a bitch. Although, on reflection, maybe Poe would take that. Things could have been a lot fucking worse. With some difficulty, he managed to shift his body so that he was sitting in a more upright position. His head swam. Maybe he wasn't so untouched as he thought. This felt like a hangover. Only worse. Because there had been no fun drinking, raucous dancing, and pleasingly embarrassing behaviour involved beforehand.

The rustling of the cotton sheets served to stir Finn from his light doze. He peered at Poe blearily, as though he couldn't make sense of seeing him conscious. Unsticking his dry, sore throat, Poe greeted him, "Hey, buddy. How you doin'?"

Finn stared, "You just got kidnapped by a serial killer, tortured, and raced across miles of forest with a broken arm. And you ask me how _I'm_ doing?"

Poe shrugged, attempting a grin, "Well, you already seem to know a lot about me."

"You're an idiot. How do you feel?"

"Groggy and confused. Where am I?" Finn dutifully provided the name of the hospital, causing Poe to whistle softly through his teeth. "Over state boundaries, huh? Not too far though, I guess. What's the damage timewise – I been out another couple of days?"

Finn nodded, "Pretty much. Just over. You're lucky. There was talk of operating on your arm, but for all the bruising and swelling, I think it worked out a clean break. They got really worried when they found out you'd broken it before."

The dull sound of metal hitting flesh, his own stifled sobs, the heat so thick you almost couldn't breathe-  Then an older memory, buried as far back in his mind as possible stirred to life. "Sorry," Poe shook his head fractionally and closed his eyes, willing the intense sensations to subside, "I think I missed that. Did you say something?"

"I said I gotta go phone the General. She promised she'd have my balls if I didn't call the second you woke up."

Poe heard Finn talking again, but struggled to focus and felt his eyelids growing heavy. The lure of sleep far more appealing than his memories. Perhaps he wasn't as ready to return to the waking world as he thought. Words slurring, he murmured, "Sure thing, buddy." He reached out to give Finn's warm hand a quick squeeze, eyes slipping shut so rapidly he missed the slight softening of the man's expression.

\---

Poe awoke for the second time to the hiss of a whispered argument by his bed, "I thought you said he was conscious."

"He _was_ conscious. I just thought I was supposed to call when he woke up-"

"The plan wasn't to head over here and start asking questions if he's still got anaesthetic working through his system."

"With all due respect, ma'am-"

Finn was starting to sound more than a little crotchety, so Poe drew on all his determination and forced himself to stir. He groaned audibly, hoping the dramatic effect would give them a few seconds of warning to pull themselves together.

"Shit, I think he's waking up again. Poe, you okay there?"

Poe squinted at Finn, wondering what the appropriate response to that was. From the rectangular window in the corner of his room, Poe could tell the light outside was a rich, burnt orange. Nearly evening. Another day pretty much gone. On the other hand, the muted light softened the room. This time, when Poe tried to sit up, he found himself in possession of a lot more energy and decent control of his limbs. The sparse furniture all appeared to stay in one place and in singular quantities. Very encouraging. "Yeah, Finn. I'm fine. Although I'd love a glass of water?"

Scrambling towards the door, Finn's reply was lost to the open hospital corridor. This left Poe alone with his boss. She looked tired. In fact, she looked bloody awful. Feeling that he could probably get away with anything at this moment, Poe told her that in no uncertain terms.

"Let's see how pretty you look when you've spent two days looking for one of your best investigators, realise he's been disappeared, and then wonder if you're going to be able to get to him in time and what sort of state he'll be in when you do."

Poe nodded sombrely, "Sounds tough."

"Dameron, I think we're a bit too close to these events to make light of them. I'm glad you're back and that you should make a full recovery from your injuries."

Dark shadows lingered under Leia's eyes, like all the sleep in the world wouldn't chase those clouds away. Her hair was as beautifully braided as ever, pulled back off her face – neat and no nonsense, but with just a hint of old school glamour. Seeing her face, Poe felt like he'd come home. A tightness inside his gut eased without him even realising it was tense. The silence was in danger of becoming the awkward side of emotional, so he forced himself to speak, "When did you realise I was missing?"

Leia Organa's mouth hardened fractionally, "You might want to ask Finn about that."

\---

 _'Wishing on a speck of dust_  
_In this crazy ocean of fate,_  
_An echo of a memory,_  
_And maybe just a little too late.'_

_\---_

Five days earlier, Jessika Pava wandered into the incident room they'd commandeered in a local police station. It was the only ramshackle building both close enough to the recent bodies and big enough to house their motley crew of agents and analysts. "Has anyone seen Dameron? I need him to check he's happy with some witness statements. I've got people getting antsy to leave and I can't give them the go ahead without oversight."

Pushing half five, the office floor was still humming with activity; normal hours tended to become irrelevant during murder investigations. One by one she made her way through the inhabitants of the room, pinning various unfortunates to their chairs or where they stood to interrogate. No one could give her a satisfactory answer. The consensus was that Poe had said something about going back to the location where the newest body had been found. Apparently, he'd left several hours ago.

Jessika scratched her head, seriously perturbed at the general sense of apathy she was facing. "Hello? Doesn't anybody think it's unusual for Poe just to disappear for a few hours and go dark? I'm serious, has _someone_ heard from him?"

At that precise moment, Finn chose to walk into the room. Technically new to homicide investigations, he was supposed to be providing analytical support whilst learning the ropes. Mostly that meant he made a lot of tea/coffee/took care of all the really fucking boring paperwork. Like evidence logs. God, if Finn saw another brown evidence bag today or someone waved sticky sheets of barcodes in his face, he was going to lose the plot.

"You."

He rounded, hands already half way in the air, "Whatever you've heard, it's not true."

Thoroughly unimpressed, Jessika put her hands on her hips. Slim with a small frame, Finn was somehow still bloody terrified despite having at least a foot in height and several pounds of muscle on her. "You've been working a lot with Dameron recently. Have you heard from him at all?"

Finn’s face relaxed, "Oh? Poe? I mean, Special Agent Dameron. I mean, sure. I've heard from him." His chest puffed up without him consciously meaning for it to happen. He was pretty chuffed that Poe had taken something of a shine to him, offering to take Finn out with him every so often and providing a much-needed break from his usual menial tasks.

"So, when did he call you? Where did he go after visiting the body site this morning?"

Agent Pava was purposefully slowing her words down, suggesting she thought he was an idiot. Maybe this wasn't quite the moment for peacocking. "Um, well, actually I've not spoken _to_ Poe since before he left."

One superbly defined eyebrow arched; Finn took a reflexive step backwards, "But- But I spoke to someone who was going to find him at the crime scene. Maybe you can speak to them?"

"Do I need to beat the details out of you?"

"Shit. No. Just give me a sec." Finn took a speedy stroll back to his desk, dusted with a chaotic mix of paperwork and odd images. Including what looked like a photograph of Poe's weirdly ginger rescue dog BB-8 grinning at the camera. It was such a human expression, there was no other way to describe it. Jessika decided she didn't want to know and wasn't going to ask.

"Right, right, look I got it. I made a note. So, at," he squinted at the bad handwriting, "uh, at 11:13 someone from HR rang in. He said he needed to talk to Poe about accommodation arrangements while he was working down here and it was urgent. I told him Poe had gone out. He seemed pretty bummed not to catch him, so I asked if he'd mind taking a trip downtown. If it was so important, he might catch Poe at a crime scene. He said that'd be fine, so I told him the address and that was that."

As Finn's account of the conversation progressed, Pava's face darkened until she looked like a storm was about to erupt. "Did you ask this guy's name? Ask him for a badge number? What team he worked in? How did he even get through?"

"Oh, I think he called the station here and they patched him through."

"So, he didn't say- have access to a direct work number. Or maybe Poe's work mobile, if he worked for HR?"

"No, guess not. Should I have offered that?"

"You're lucky you're such a rookie right now or I would be beating your face up." Finn pushed his chair backwards in alarm. By this point a small crowd had drifted, attracted by Pava's aggressive body language and raised voice.

"What? I don’t- What did I do?"

Finn searched for an encouraging face, eyes wide with confusion. "Will one of you idiots call Poe's work mobile. _Now._ " With shaking fingers, Finn dialled the number from memory. No one commented on that. "Put it on speaker phone." Finn complied without argument; there was a deathly silence in the room as everyone listened to it ring. After what seemed like forever, it went to Poe's obnoxiously cheerful voicemail message.

At that point, even Finn's expression clouded, "That's odd. Poe only ever turns it off when he's going into an interview. Actually, he usually just puts it onto silent. He didn't say anything about talking to people today…"

Jessika rolled her eyes, rapidly turning up her sleeves. "Get people down to that crime scene ASAP. Don't touch anything when you get there. Start logging where any CCTV might be immediately. Where's the boss? Someone needs to get Poe's mobile details to the tech so they can trace where it was last active and when. You," she pointed at Finn, "you can do that."

"I don't understand. Isn't that the kind of stuff we do when someone goes missing?" Pava's face remained impassive whilst Finn felt the first stirrings of panic in his gut, "You think Poe's gone missing?"

Eventually the woman folded her arms, white shirt pulling taught over her biceps. Distractedly, Finn wondered how she'd managed to keep the top so crisp looking and wrinkle-free. Everyone else in the room looked like they'd slept in the laundry pile. Multiple nights in a row. "You want to know what I think? I think there are no fucking HR people based down here with us. I think someone was a little bit too interested in finding out where Poe was this morning. And you? You basically told them that he was on his own and where they could look."

Initially, Finn wanted to argue with Jessika's retreating back. Then he thought about it for a few more seconds and put his head in his hands. A gnawing sensation of guilt was starting to roil in his stomach. He felt more than saw another figure amble over. Slightly heavy set and with a scruffy five o'clock shadow, the man tentatively rested a large hand on Finn's shoulder.

Peering up through his fingers, Finn gazed at his colleague. He had a dim memory of Poe introducing them and that the guy might have been nicknamed Snap. At least, Finn presumed it was a nickname. He wasn't sure what kind of a parent would call their kid 'Snap'. Unless he was a twin. God, sometimes Finn wondered at his own mind's ramblings. "Is she always that intense?"

Snap's hand didn't move, just offered another reassuring squeeze. "I once interviewed a suspected paedophile with her. I literally thought she was going to rip his balls off. I think he did as well. It still holds the record for quickest confession on the team."

"You think Poe's in trouble too?"

"I'm not keen to jump to any conclusions. But this is odd behaviour for him. Still. Maybe it was just an over inquisitive journo and they're holed up in a coffee shop somewhere? You know, like when Poe does that thing where he nods sympathetically a couple of times, lets loose the big dark eyes, and suddenly you're spilling your life story."

"Yeah," Finn responded with a knowledgeable confidence he had absolutely no right to feel. He'd not really shadowed all that many interviews with Poe. Then he thought about the first time Poe stopped by his desk to introduce himself. And how were still talking about all Finn's long-harboured ambitions over an hour later. And how it all started when Poe gave him a slow, understanding nod in response to one of Finn's muttered comments and said with deep feeling, "I know, buddy."

Bastard.

Finn suddenly realised Snap's warm presence was missing from his side and looked up to find him in the midst of marshalling a car to take him down to the crime scene. Blue lights. No nonsense. Attempting to fight off his guilt-ridden miseries, Finn started pulling together an email to one of their tech analysts. He hated preparing for the worst, but he was determined not to let his friend down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Devil's Resting Place_ , Laura Marling  
>  _Moonlight Kissed_ , Poets of the Fall


	4. Chapter Four: One Fool, One Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for feedback - I hope this continues to be an enjoyable read. =)
> 
> No specific warnings for this chapter beyond what's implicit in the rating... although Kylo and Hux make a reappearance and their twisted logic should probably come with its own warning?

**Chapter Four**

**One Fool, One Liar**

_'Bang, bang. Two shots fired._  
_Man down; one fool, one liar._  
_Ring, ring. Trust gone missing._  
_House on fire; house on fire.'_

\---

"Hey, Poe. I don't know if you've talked much to the General-" (A not-so-secret nickname for their boss – no one was quite sure what she did before the FBI, but rumours had gone around about the military. She could certainly bark out orders like a drill sergeant.)

"Finn-"

"No, I just wanted to say. Look, man. I'm really sorry, okay? I know that doesn't cut it-"

"Honestly, Finn. Please-"

"No, this is all on me. I just want you to know that I'll be so much more careful in future. I know I royally fucked up and maybe you won't want to work with me now, but-"

"Finn. Shut up. It's not your fault. We've all been played once or twice in the job. You get someone telling you the things you want to hear, makes them sound legit, and you're already putty in their hands. Not gonna lie, Finn. I don't think you not giving the info would have put this guy off. He'd have taken his chance at some point. He might already have been watching me."

Poe raised an eyebrow, somehow still managing to look calm and authoritative whilst wired up to all sorts of contraptions in a hospital bed. Puffed up with fear of rejection and a determination to explain and apologise, Poe could almost see his friend physically deflate. At that, Poe smiled warmly. Finn never stopped being astonished at the depth of Poe's empathy and understanding.

Anxious to change the topic to something less emotionally charged, Poe seized the moment to ask, "By the way, I've been meaning to ask – I didn't know you had an FBI jacket?"

Finn blushed. There was literally no other word for the hot, red flush that spread across his cheeks. It must have been strong because Poe could even spot it in the pale hospital light that seemed to wash the colour from anything in the room. Even the hideous yellow daisies sent by his team as a cheeky 'Get Well' present had mutated from a bright gold hue to a weird mustard that clashed horribly with the colour of the walls.

"Oh, um. About that. The jacket- Well, the jacket-" Floundering in his embarrassment, Finn shot Poe a helpless look. A second later, he took a deep breath and appeared to be steeling himself for what came next, "The jacket is actually yours. One of your colleagues – Special Agent Pava- the really terrifying one- Anyway, she brought it in when we realised your original was missing and, well, the air conditioning in here was pretty strong…" The young man trailed off, clearly hoping that he'd said enough for Poe to come to his rescue.

"Right." A beat passed. "It looks good on you. You can borrow it if you want – I'll find another somewhere."

Finn, who had been preparing to shrug the offending dark garment off his shoulders and place it on the back of the visitor's chair, froze. He wasn't sure what to say and was taken off guard by a strange, warm sensation blossoming in the pit of his stomach at Poe's praise.

Neither of them felt sure about what to say next and they were spared figuring this out by the return of the General. Pausing at the edge of the doorway, Leia asked, "Finn, change over for the watch on Poe's door is due in five. Could you go and meet them to show them the way here?"

Recognising a polite 'Get out now,' Finn hastened to his feet and promised he'd be back in no time.

Poe squinted, "There's a guard on my door?"

"Why do you think you're in a private room to start with? You survived something you weren't supposed to, Dameron. The people we look for tend not to like leaving messy, open ends."

"Surely he wouldn't risk trying to come into a hospital he knows will be swarming with cops and feds?"

Leia shrugged, "You tell me. You're the one who's been hunting this animal for a year."

Poe said nothing, looking instead towards the window again. Outside it was dark, the sky a rich navy – promising blackness, but still holding on to the latest vestiges of daylight. The only noise for a moment were the beeping monitors and the soft whirr of the hospital’s air conditioning.

"Poe, listen. You'll need to be formally interviewed – the sooner we can get someone to you, the better. I've got a couple of guys who could come by this evening. I know it's late, but-"

"Don't worry. I'm fine. They can come and we can go over it for as long as they want."

Much like Finn, Leia hesitated – uncertain what to say once the most immediate, factual issues were dealt with. She hovered by the doorway, looking unusually awkward for a woman who usually exuded control.

Poe already didn't like this change in attitude. Okay, yeah. He'd woken up not long ago, was probably doing everything possible  _not_  to think about what had happened to him over the last few days. But, hell, he wasn't made of glass. It was going to be tough to get through and he'd need a lot of help, but he really didn't want people to treat him with kid gloves. He wanted to pretend everything was still vaguely normal.

"How're you feeling?" was the question the General eventually settled on.

"My arm itches."

Leia snorted, not sure what to make of her best agent glowering at her from his hospital bed. Poe's skin still looked pale. Underneath the bruises. And the cuts. He must be drugged up and Leia was glad he wasn't at a stage to appreciate yet what a state he was in. Still fighting. That was Poe all over. "Right. Well, they're going to bring you something to eat in a few minutes and I have some phone calls to make. I'm sure Finn will be back soon."

Waving with his uninjured hand, Poe indicated he would be fine.

Half turned towards the door, Leia stopped- a strange, unnatural pause. "What was he like?"

With her back to him, Poe couldn't read her face. He couldn't look into her eyes and try to puzzle out why she was asking this. In a sense, it didn't matter. She'd broken protocol, whatever interest stirred winning out over what was deemed good practice. Poe's attention sparked, but he kept his voice even, neutral.

"He was completely covered all the time I saw him. But, tall, I guess? At least six feet. Looked well built, but tough to say under the layers of clothes he wore. All black. Even the mask – everything was black. Except for his eyes. They were dark brown, although unusually bloodshot if you really want all the details. And the skin round them… looked pale. Like he probably didn't see much sunlight. Guess that'll happen if you swathe yourself up like a mummy."

Leia made no move to turn around, but Poe noticed the way her shoulders tensed fractionally. The way her hand trembled just a little as it grasped the door handle. "Get some rest, Agent. I'll be back later with the guys who're going to interview you."

"Ma'am."

Now wasn't the time to ask questions, but Poe could foresee a moment in the future when he would need every single piece of ammunition possible to fight his corner, to pull this out into the open and demand some honesty. So, he filed the memory away and pondered over it later that night when he couldn't sleep for fear of the nightmares and otherwise only had the soft bleeping of the machines for company.

\---

The interview took hours. Poe soon realised he was exhausted, bone tired in a way that was utterly unfamiliar to him. The headache developed not long after they started, but he'd been the one to say this was fine and he sure wasn't going to let anyone down.

The guys interviewing him seem decent enough. They had a kind manner, trying to encourage him between them without patronising. It was clear at the beginning no one was sure how to treat him – victim, witness, but also an equal – one of their own. Poe was just glad this was happening in a hospital first time around, not a formal interview room; he didn't need to worry about how many people were listening to him, judging the quality of his testimony and actions on the other side of the one-way glass.

Instead, all he worried about was Leia, hovering on the edge of his peripheral vision. He'd invited her to stay, certain she was desperate to hear his full account. To deny her this opportunity would be cruel. Poe ignored her for the most part, trying hard not to think about what opinions she was forming about his welfare and the implications this might have for his work.

Reaching the end was painful, but they got there. Poe was seconds away from holding his hands up, admitting exhaustion, and pleading for some privacy. Instead, the guy leading the interview paused before stating formally, "We're grateful for what you've told us, Special Agent Dameron." Part of Poe was getting hysterical as they all acted like they weren't talking to the fucking  _lead_ on this very case, like Poe wasn't the expert in the room on the man they were searching for. "Was there anything else you wanted to add?"

Poe fixed his dark eyes on his boss, choosing his words with care, "I don't think this guy was working by himself."

Leia startled and the two interviewers frowned at the late curve ball, "You didn't mention this before."

"That's because all I've got is gut instinct and I'm not sure I want this on the record. I just think that going to all the trouble of kidnapping a victim and the way everything was set out in the church. It's so careful, meticulous. The guy we've been focused on favours brutality, probably short hunts, and a vicious kill. Messy, emotional, but always easy targets in one or way another. Taking on someone likely to be armed, delaying the actual murder, all the theatrics? It's not his style. There's an outside influence – maybe he was playing up to someone? Emulating them? I don't know. But I think we should be looking for any recent examples of ritualistic killing."

"Was there anything else, Special Agent Dameron?"

"No – that's everything." But Poe wasn't interested in the pair of non-descript grey suits and their digital recorder. He watched Organa, trying to assess her reaction. She knew Poe. She knew he wouldn't speak his mind unless he felt there was a genuine need to do so. Leia's eyes glittered like flints, heavy and sharp. No words passed between them, but a faint rise of her chin indicated to Poe everything he needed to know.

She was thinking it over.

Now he needed to concentrate on improving physically and convincing the delightful medical staff of this establishment that he didn't need to burden them for any longer than necessary. Like… any day longer than tomorrow. After all, he had a feisty rescue dog to get home to.

Poe allowed himself a small smile once he was sure he was alone. He always did enjoy a challenge.

\---

_'You be the prey and I'll be the predator;_  
_I want it all._  
_I can't be tamed; I'm a cold blood killer._  
_With you, I'm an animal.'_

\---

A hand closed viciously around Kylo's throat. He jerked awake, tugged without mercy from the blissfully empty state of unconsciousness that claimed him hours earlier. The walls of the cheap motel were initially unfamiliar and unsettling, but his mind worked on over time and caught him up quick. He remembered everything. The frantic driving, changing of mobiles, withdrawing of cash from nameless prepaid credit cards, the fear of pursuit, and the separation.

Hux couldn't even stay away for a few days now. Kylo's lip curled with derision. He was getting weak, needy.

Thin fingers tightened and Hux shoved his head into the rough pillows. The mattress was so hard, Kylo could almost feel his brains rattle. Hux was riled. Even in the dark, Kylo could see his pupils – bright and blown wide, sparkling like obsidian. He was running hot and high. Either he'd just killed or he was in the frenzy just before the kill.

Sex tended to be unbelievable whichever scenario, so Kylo didn't much mind either way.

Once Hux had worked through whatever new phase of self-loathing he'd descended to, they could get down to the actual pleasurable business. Fuck. Kylo's cock was already hard just at the clean scent of his skin and hair. But then, it had been ages since he'd seen that translucent body prone beneath him. Not since-

"Did you fucking think I wouldn't try and work it out?"

Kylo – in the process of trying to find something to grind his aching cock up against – paused. He hated to admit it, but Hux didn't sound like himself. And the hand round his neck. Little too tight to be truly pleasurable. Plus, Hux wasn't using his hips to hold his sometime partner down, he literally had his shoulders pinned. In a way that suggested no nonsense. Kylo waited, understanding that the only way he'd get to the bottom of this would be to let Hux talk himself out.

A second hand joined the first around Kylo's throat. He didn't like that one bit. He ached to reach for the wicked blade stuffed under his pillow. The only instinct stopping his desire to fight was that Hux hadn't put any pressure on his windpipe yet. He was just there – a solid, heavy weight, sinking down on his body, cold fingers a warning of how much stood in the balance.

"Did you think I'd just swallow it all down? That you'd decided to pick a bigger prize for me, for  _us_? You're not stupid, Ren. You took an FBI Agent and you  _did. It. On. Purpose._ What's the big idea, huh? You not getting enough attention?"

Kylo exhaled slowly, feeling the fluttering of his pulse against Hux's fingertips. Hux was as sharp as the blade of his knife. That was one of the things Kylo liked about him. He'd got no interest in clumsy, stupid humans – beings who seemed more animal than man. Hux, fuck, Hux was refined. He sneered at most of the world with an expression that said they weren't worth the dirt on his shoes. Kylo approved of that superiority, shared Hux's sense of entitlement. They were geniuses above the realm of mere mortals. Just look at how long they'd been shamelessly breaking the law and still no one could touch them, no one could even get close.

Until now.

Until Kylo went and made a massive miscalculation. To be fair, he really hadn't thought Dameron would escape. Everything was supposed to be different, not to have turned into this colossal fuck up. Dameron was supposed to be cold and dead, the pretty subject of ravenous twenty-four hour news cycles and hollow speeches where law enforcement officials wrung their hands, promised justice, and all that crap. Anger unlike any burn Kylo had ever felt still lingered in his stomach from where it had swollen upon discovering the man had slipped through their fingers. Hux wasn't the only one fuming.

"Don't know what you mean," he hissed through gritted teeth, buying time to let Hux give away exactly what he'd discovered, if anything.

"Wrong answer." Now the fingers tightened. "You don't take risks like that. I fucking know you," Hux snarled in the darkness, his breath hot against Kylo's cheek. There might be bruises on his neck tomorrow from this grip. Kylo was already a little hot under the collar, thinking about how he would wear the marks of their shared violence with pride. "You kill drunks, addicts, homeless loners the world isn't going to miss. You don't kidnap grown men. Men who are trained to fight back. You don't bring them to me. He must mean something to you. So, tell me. Is it him personally? Or is it what he stands for? You think I'll just avoid questions about your past? Think I won't ask you?"

Kylo really didn't care that Hux was halfway to restricting his airflow. Wasn't even fully conscious of the aching pressure on his windpipe. His eyes were half-lidded, lost to the siren call of memory. His mouth fell open reflexively, but Kylo didn't hear himself wheezing for breath.

All he could hear was the crisp metallic chink as empty bullet casings hit the ground. All he could smell was the faint whiff of copper and on his skin, the wet rub of fabric sprayed with a thick viscous liquid. Blood. He wallowed in the memory, nearly drowning in the sticky, red richness of it.

Hux's voice buzzed distantly, the irritating high-pitched shriek of a gnat. Taller than his companion, it didn't take much for Kylo to break out of the grip, acting almost on autopilot. Within seconds he reversed their positions until he could finally shut Hux the fuck up the easiest way. By kissing him.

What followed was brutal. They woke up the next day to blood stained sheets, ripped in several places. Hux glowered at him with cold blue eyes when he emerged from the lukewarm dribble calling itself a shower. They couldn't leave traces like this. Hux knew the bedding would have to come with them, but what was a little theft on top of all their other crimes to date?

Kylo remained silent and elusive and Hux was back into his anal-retentive control mode. There would be no more begging for answers now.

They only thing Kylo said in the rose dawn light, before they went their separate ways, was, "I meant it as a gift for you. I wanted him to be a perfect canvas, to see what you would create."

Lighting up a cigarette, Hux started walking out of the miserable parking lot attached to the equally miserable hotel. A woollen black hat covered his distinctive hair, hair that would mark him out as a stranger, as memorable. "I need him," was all he said, voice clear, calm, accepting there would be no further answers today. "But keep an eye out, I've got some inspiration. I'll give you a taste."

Kylo's mouth went dry. So Hux _was_ on the hunt.

He couldn't wait. The next place would need a TV.

He was going to need to watch the news for a headline splash. Kind of like the arc of arterial spray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Alarm_ , Anne-Marie  
>  _Animal_ , XOV


	5. Chapter Five: Fallin' From Your Ladder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading and for any feedback - it's very much appreciated. =)
> 
> No specific warnings for this chapter beyond the usual. I think the description I would give it is 'plot advancement'. ;)

**Chapter Five**

**Fallin' from your Ladder**

_'I can't see where you comin' from;_  
_But I know just what you runnin' from;_  
_And what matters ain't the 'who's baddest,' but_  
_The ones who stop you fallin' from your ladder.'_

_\---_

"What the hell are you doing, Dameron?"

Poe was sitting at his desk. There was technically nothing wrong with this. It was a desk, commandeered from a local police force, that had been given to Poe. It was a nice desk too. Broad with plenty of space for him to spread out a mixture of papers, forms, and photographs. His latest 'I survived a serial killer' selfie with BB-8 had taken pride of place amongst the display this morning, in fact.

His arm was still in a cast and it still hurt quite a fucking lot, but he'd managed to get his password typed in just fine and was watching the rotating cursor with mild fascination. The potential volume of unread emails in his inbox terrified him. However, on reflection, he had to admit that the otherwise diminutive woman stood in front of him with her hands on her hips scared him a lot more.

No one else dared approach Leia. An unspoken safety perimeter had gone into operation the moment she spotted Poe when she walked through the door. Cowards. So much for his apparent friends. They weren't exactly jumping to his defence.

"My office, Dameron. _Now_."

Swearing under his breath, Poe scrambled to his feet. He flipped his teammates the finger with his good hand on the way. Leia literally stalked the short walk to her office, slamming the door open and marching inside without another word. Poe followed meekly. As much as Poe could ever manage 'meek'.

She made him wait. She made him wait while she sat down, settled her coffee onto her desk, turned her computer on. Not a word. God, Poe was literally squirming in his seat. This was like he was at kindergarten, waiting for a scolding after kicking muddy puddle water at another kid. He was so fucking glad Organa wasn't his mother. He pitied any child of hers. Poe would have been begging for forgiveness by now if he'd been a weaker man.

Finally, with a fierce scowl twisting her lips, she said, "First, you're supposed to be on sick leave. Second, you're too close to this case now. You're a target. You should move to a safe house."

The colour drained from Poe's face. He could see it now, sitting listlessly in a bare room. He would be separated from all developments, reduced to watching news broadcasts and trying to fill in the gaps with what hadn't been released to the public in bland media statements. They weren't anywhere near to catching the guy who took him. He could be there for months. It wasn't going to happen.

"Leia, please. I'm fine. My arm is the only thing that really got bashed up and the doc's taking care of it. I've got a string of check-ups booked."

Poe paused, thoughts briefly drifting back to the moments before he decided it was time to check out of hospital.

\---

_"Medical records show you've broken this arm before, Special Agent Dameron."_

_Poe shrugged gently, careful not to jostle too much, "Oh, yeah. Training accident. You know, Poe's fine, by the way."_

_Training accident. The memories of those days haunted Poe, creeping up on him without fail whenever the defences went down. He could still feel the press of a larger body against him. The warmth of lips teasing the skin under his jaw. The hot words against his throat after he'd said, "I think you're overestimating yourself a bit there..."_

_"I think you're underestimating me. I think you're underestimating what I'll do to get what I want."_

_The shock when he'd tried to pull away, only to be forced back. Pinned by a body much larger than his own, trained and muscled. The ignition of panic and horrible realisation of helplessness. No one to hear them, a tiny room, no obvious way out._

_Poe shook his head, withdrawing from the intense images. He was in the hospital in bright day light with a super friendly doctor who was really putting his teeth on edge with that mega-watt smile._

_Yep. He needed to get out of here. Immediately._

_\---_

"That doesn't change the fact that you're almost certainly in danger right now, Dameron. Do you expect me to agree to putting you back in harm's way?”

Poe's lips twisted into a frown, "You don't know they picked me specifically. It could have just been opportunity. One Fed's as good as another. Nothing to indicate they're interested in finishing what they started. Also. You need me. I've physically seen one of the guys we're hunting. I'm almost certain I could recognise his voice again, his stature. You want me working this case. I'm one of the only fresh leads we have."

Leia wasn't looking at him as he spoke; she was deliberately closing herself off from the passion of his plea. This was not a good sign. It meant she'd already made up her mind. Poe had one last trick up his sleeve, but it was dirty and he hadn't wanted to play it unless things got desperate. Silently he begged for her not to do it, not to push him to that point.

"I'm sorry, Poe. I won't risk your life over this. You need to come off the case. I want you transferred to a different state. Somewhere up north, far from here."

Shaking his head, Poe tried to keep a lid on his anger. "This is so stupid. The safest place for me to be is here, learning more about this guy and putting his movements together."

"That's an order, Agent."

"Yeah, sure." Poe got to his feet, cheeks flushed pink with anger. "So, when I leave, I'll send someone in to take a statement from you. That'll be okay, right?"

Frowning, Leia finally turned to face him. Her fingers tightened around the paper cup with her poison of choice to a point where Poe was worried for its structural integrity. "What are you talking about, Dameron?"

"You asked me what he was like. I'm not stupid, Leia. You recognised something in the description and you haven't told anyone."

"You're imagining things."

"If it's significant, that could count as obstruction. We don’t even know how many people this guy has killed. Whatever it is, tell me. I can help. We can get it submitted as an anonymous tip-off – anything to protect your name coming into it."

"Poe- You don't understand what you're asking. _I can't_."

Anger building, Poe took another step to the door. "And I can't let more innocent people end up bludgeoned to death by a maniac. You make me come off this case, I will tell someone. I've always had your back, Leia."

In the intervening minutes, it seemed an age had caught up with his boss. She hunched in the chair, suddenly frail and with dark circles blooming under eyes. Her mouth turned downwards, framed with thin lines on pale skin. She tried to speak twice before the words would come. "You were there, weren't you? In Quantico. When it happened."

Poe couldn't follow her straight away. He processed quickly through various memories and then it hit him. Literally struck him like a fist in the stomach. "Yeah, I was there. You know perfectly well where I was. I was resting, back from hospital after breaking-" he drifted, alarmed that the same memories were surfacing again, "after breaking my arm. I didn't see it happen. But I was there- not long after, trying to help." The scent of copper in the air, congealing at the back of his throat as he tried to swallow.

"I don't know why I asked you what the man looked like. I don't know what I thought you would say. But your description. It reminded me- That is to say, it could match-"

Something horrific was happening right in front of Poe. Leia was fighting back tears. He'd never seen his boss cry, vulnerable like this. She was one of those people you wanted to imagine were invincible, that they could deflect bullets and never be touched by sickness. Man, he felt like a massive dick. Acting so selfishly just to stay on the case… But still. Leia obviously had a theory and it might help them- it might be worth putting her through this pain and grief.

"He's dead. That was the assessment, right? He'd committed suicide."

"We never found a body."

Panic was sprawling in Poe's gut. Immediately he was back in that decaying church, trying to match his old memories to the fresh ones. Could it be the same man? It was possible, but not enough to be sure. It had been so many years.

"There's a lot of people could match that description, Leia. Why do you think it's him?"

Leia shrugged, genuinely looking lost, "I know intuition isn't a good enough explanation, but- I knew him well, before everything at Quantico. He always had so much rage. These killings – the way these bodies are battered beyond recognition. He could do it. I'm sure."

Poe nodded, a sudden weariness prompting him to sit back in the chair. Even breathing a hint of what happened was usually a complete taboo. Poe couldn't recall the last time anyone had spoken about it in this detail. Normally it was euphemistic half sentences and hushed tones. Still too painful. Wounds too fresh. No stitches to help with the healing. Sometimes, he glanced down and still expected to see the blood on his hands. Sticky, drying, itching on his fingers. Eight half-moon crescents raw on his palms.

"We gotta think how to handle this. Could get real sensitive if it turns out to be more than a hunch."

Leia offered no answer, so Poe continued talking, "We'll keep it right on the down low for the minute. I'll get a photograph of him and go back to a couple of the more recent bars, couple of stores, places he might have gone. Put it in front of a few people and see if it triggers anything."

Swallowing a big mouthful of coffee, Leia agreed with a tilt of her head. "Just because I've told you this doesn't mean you're off the hook. I'm deeply concerned that you remain in danger, Poe. I will not let your pride get you killed. Your position on the team will be under constant review – I get any hint what so ever that someone is looking for you, you're out. No arguments."

"Ma'am."

"You're to have backup at all times. If you're going out now, take someone with you."

"I'll take Finn. He's relatively new; he missed all that stuff at Quantico. It won't mean as much to him. Might make it easier to ask these questions without starting rumours."

"Fine. Stay armed. Take all precautions. I'll be damned if I'm going to lose you, Dameron."

Even as he got to his feet for the second time, Poe understood this must be touching a lot of nerves for Leia. Bringing back all those horrible thoughts, threatening the loss of another agent. Poe could understand. He didn't want to end up dead much either. He was brave and committed to his work, but not prideful to the point of suicide. "Under constant review. Got it. You have my word I won't be stupid about this. I'll report back this afternoon when we've shown the photo around."

\---

_'Don't turn around;_   
_Feel it nipping at the backs of your heels,_   
_Feel it calling like a northern wind, whispering_   
_'Who you are isn't what you've been.''_

\--- 

Finn sat silently in the driver's seat, watching the rundown single storey houses fly by in grey and grimy white blurs. They were interspersed with rolling fields, the green a relief in the otherwise bleak landscape. Although Finn tried to keep his expression neutral, there was a heaviness in his gaze and an occasional grimace he failed to hide. Poe sympathised; he felt his own usually cheerful spirits oppressed by the sight of such abject dereliction.

"You okay there, buddy?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine. Don't think I've actually been to any of the crime scenes related to the case. Is it far out of town?"

"Few miles. We'll be there before twelve. Gonna try the bar where the vic was a regular. I'll double check the case file, but I'm pretty sure it was Leroy's."

Quiet settled back into the car, so Poe started shuffling through papers in the manila folder on his lap; they didn't hold his attention long. He was soon staring back out of the gritty window. Finn surprised him when he said, "From the looks of places around here, there can't be that many options."

"It's kinda run down, huh?"

"Reminds me a bit of the area where I grew up. Actually," he paused and his dark eyes went wide in an almost literal attempt to absorb more of the dreary scene, "that would look lively compared to this."

Poe glanced at their newest team member, appraising him silently. Finn smiled like an open book, but he'd never mentioned his past, a family, anything about a life before this one. He didn't talk about going to see friends at the weekend, never quite seemed to know what to do with his rare holidays. Poe was smart enough to understand when prying was welcome and when you had to work a bit damned harder to prove to someone they could trust you with their secrets. Finn fit slam dunk into the second category.

Finn was a genuinely smart guy. Instinct didn't always have a place in their line of work, but sometimes it did and Poe had a good feeling about this man. He was committed, motivated, polite – a general breath of fresh air to work with after so many months on a vicious case that didn't look like it was going anywhere.

Poe always went out of his way for others when he felt they deserved help and friendship. Finn would make a great field agent and if that was something he might want, Poe reckoned he could help with the practice and advice and all the other shit that got you into the role.

But he wouldn't offer that now. For all Finn's happiness to accept guidance and listen to more experienced voices, he had his pride. He needed to find his own way, decide what he wanted. He didn't need busybodies like Poe interfering and trying to tell him what was best and what wasn't.

Poe liked the guy on instinct; he didn't _know_ him.

Although, he noted that Finn had followed his suggestion to wear Poe's old FBI jacket to their impromptu interviews, so maybe he was still in with a chance at winning some trust.

"You from anywhere around here?"

Finn shot him a quick look, no doubt calculating how much information he was prepared to give up. "No, sir. Grew up in Baltimore. I guess it was alright. Had its own problems."

Poe nodded, ignoring the contradictions in Finn's statement and asking no more questions. Finn would talk when, and if, he was ready. Poe had enough of his own secrets, lurking like skeletons in the closet. He suppressed a shiver that wanted to roll down his spine. All this talk about Quantico with Leia... It was bringing back so many sensations Poe would rather gift to oblivion. He wasn't sure how much he'd pay, but sometimes he thought it'd be a lot if someone could take the weight of the past from him.

The photograph of their potential suspect seemed like a leaden weight, dragging them both down from where it rested innocently inside a file on Poe's lap.

Poe hoped Leia was wrong. He prayed silently like he'd not appealed to God in years.

Deep down, he already knew no one was listening.

\---

The man behind the bar was looking at them with a pale face void of expression or emotion, but the sour twist of his lips spoke of distrust. Finn, sadly accustomed to such dismissal, was unbothered by the disapproval and instead trying hard not to stare at the frankly fantastic handlebar moustache the bar manager was sporting. It was difficult when it seemed to twitch of its own accord every few seconds.

Together, he and Poe had located the eponymous 'Leroy' of 'Leroy's' and were trying to interest him in their photograph. Leroy's watery eyes were flicking between an image of a man Poe now considered a total stranger and the hunting rifle pinned to the wall on the opposite side of the small room. Finn thought it must be there for display. Surely.

Poe notched up his 'earnest' face to pretty much full throttle. With the kindest smile Finn had ever seen another human being display in the face of such unconscious prejudice and dismissal, he asked once more, "So, you don't think you've ever seen this guy? He'd be pretty tall. Like, at least six feet? Probably quite broad. Pale skin?"

"Lotta folks pass through here. But a stranger, 'specially one so darned tall and weird-lookin', gunna stick out by a mile." Leroy was chewing on some tobacco and not making any effort keep his words audible.

Poe's friendly demeanour dropped for a second before he regained self-control and plastered the mega-watt smile right back on. Finn found biting his tongue was the only thing that kept a grin off his own face. He wasn't sure how Poe could keep acting with the patience of a saint, but keep his composure Poe did.

"The guy who was killed near here. He was pretty much a regular, right?"

"S'pose so. He came and went. But he came back more than others."

Poe nodded like this answer made perfect sense, "Have you got any more people like that. Guys or ladies who come in and might look at this for us? Anyone else work behind the bar? Like if you need a break or something?"

Leroy frowned, the tanned skin on his face pinched and tired, "I ain't got no money or time for no breaks. I work. I gotta work. I own this bar outright and I ain't gonna let that slide. No, sir."

"So, you don't have any help?"

"I got help. I got a girl – she's a good girl, mind. She comes in on Friday, Saturday. Times when it might get a bit busier. Y'all already spoke to her when they found Doug."

"Of course. I'm sure you're right. My bad, Mr. Leroy." Poe fiddled with various pages in the folder, scratching his head and muttering to himself. The ceiling was pretty low in here, Finn noted. The windows were small and the light was poor even at midday. Aside from causing a stir by being a stranger in town, the inebriated clientele of Leroy's probably wasn't going to shape up as their best witnesses. Still, Poe needed to tick this box and Finn would do his best to help.

Still fishing through his paperwork, Poe held up a hand, "Wait, wait. I found her. Annabelle, right?"

"S'right. Bella. My sister-in-law's cousin's sister or summat. Whatever, she's family and she's alright."

Finn detected some sort of pre-emptive accusation, as though to them, by default because they were male they were also predatory, liable to view any female as a potential conquest. Poe scented the threat as well, but continued to act professionally, to the point where his expression and voice became eerily neutral. "Is Annabelle coming into work today?"

"Nu'uh. S'quiet on a weekday like this. She's gut another job at that hairdressers on the main street in town. Y'all probably find her there 'til about four. Don't know her business or what she might do after that."

"Would you mind if we stopped by here Friday and Saturday evening this week? Completely friendly visit, but I'd like as many people as possible to see this picture."

"You think he came in here? Before he went bashed Doug's brains out? We're a tight community, son. We'd notice some odd fella breezing on in."

Poe had gone slightly pale at the mention of the destruction wrought on the body of their most recent victim. In this type of enquiry, when you weren't looking at photographs or talking to medical professionals, you could distance yourself from the visceral blood and guts. It almost became surreal. Like a murder mystery game or a film – the victims were just actors and when someone called 'cut' on the final scene, they'd get up and walk home good as new.

"Can we come?"

"Do whutever you please. Not like I could stop you anyway." The suspicion and hint of accusation were back full force. Finn found himself wondering whether it was a greater crime that they were FBI employees, outsiders, or something more… fundamental than all that. Like having the wrong colour skin.

"Thanks, Mr. Leroy. We honestly appreciate your time."

Leroy said nothing further, merely twitched his moustache in what Finn took to be a motion of dismissal. Before they'd taken a step, the old man went back to unpacking a crate of clean glasses, chewing on his distracting wad of tobacco. Poe shrugged and they crossed the dark room back to the door. Finn glanced back only once and found Leroy upright again, his returned eyes darting between them and that display rifle.

Poe was oblivious, so Finn suppressed any reaction and hurried out after him. The temperature of welcome could clearly plummet fast around here, if it ever rose much above freezing.

Back in the scorching midday sun, Poe stood for a moment with his head tilting upwards. With his caramel skin glowing, Finn had a strange urge to imagine what the rest of Poe's torso might look like. Muscled, bare, and shining with sweat in the sunlight. Okay, hey. Weird. That was weird and needed not to happen ever again. Finn kind of wished he could purge his own mind with soap.

Poe seemed like he was about to comment on their unsuccessful interview when his mobile blared to life. In the quiet atmosphere of the town, it sounded shrill and artificial. Fumbling around in his jacket pocket, Poe stuffed his folder of papers at Finn's chest before striding away so that he could have the conversation with more privacy.

If a twinge of disappointment at not being trusted curled to life inside Finn's stomach, he ignored it with astonishing ferocity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Short Change Hero_ , The Heavy  
>  _Northern Wind_ , Liza Anne


	6. Chapter Six: Hunter Becomes the Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your feedback - comments and kudos are 100% appreciated!
> 
> Okay, so **some definite extra warnings for this chapter** : graphic descriptions of violence and reference to sexual assault - but nothing explicit. Also, just to emphasise, this fic is exactly that - 100% fictional, so any semblance to real events is incidental.
> 
> I know we've gone darker here, but I hope this story continues to be an engaging ride. =)

**Chapter Six**

**Hunter Becomes the Hunted**

_'It's not so wise, if you try to run._  
_It's not so wise; you know I've won._  
_And you'll smile on your knees,_  
_The hunter becomes the hunted.'_

\---

"Dameron."

_"You wanna tell me why the fuck your jacket has turned up at my crime scene?"_

"I'm sorry; I don't understand- Hey, Ackbar, is that you?"

_"Yeah, it's me. You know what I'm working right now?"_

"Uh, that other serial- what do you guys call it?"

_"Starkiller, man. I'm working the fucking Starkiller case. You wanna tell me why two days ago, your sainted boss Organa was on the phone with my superior trying to distract my only fucking decent analyst into some airy, fairy suppositional project. That, hey, maybe your guy is working with someone else and oh, yeah, you guys might fit the bill – wanna trade information?"_

"Look, Ack. You know what happened? There's no way-"

_"Shut up, Dameron. Now, two days later, I got another fucking corpse and your fucking FBI jacket is currently taking pride of place in my crime scene. Get your ass down here. I'll message you the address."_

"Shit. Yeah. Okay. Hey – wait. I can't drive at the moment. Can you send-" A cold, high pitched bleep informed Poe that his charming and sympathetic colleague had hung up. Ninety percent of the time Ackbar was a chilled out, on point dude who had your back and knew his stuff. The rest of the time, when he got worked up about something, he flipped out like a full-on Mr. Hyde.

Jogging back over to Finn, Poe pulled his papers back. He flipped through the sheets before extracting the photograph of their potential suspect. "Look, Finn. I gotta run. Take this picture, show it to as many people round here as you can. You get no dice, move on to the location of the next victim. Got it?"

"Yeah, but Poe-" Poe held up his good hand, palm outstretched for the keys. Finn looked at him in horror, "Dude, your _arm_. You can't drive."

"Finn, it's an automatic. I've got one good arm. I'll be fine. The roads out here are dead anyway. You can't take me because I need you to stay here and show the photo around. It's important. You gotta trust me on that."

Finn shot him one final appraising glance, his disapproval so strong it was almost tangible. Whatever he saw, it was enough to confirm that Poe was not going to change his mind. He sighed and handed over the bunch of keys with a clatter. "You better be careful. I am not answering to the General if your car is found upside down in a ditch somewhere."

"You're the best, buddy." Poe's grin was wide, but it didn't meet his eyes. Finn watched as his colleague turned away, jogging over to the car without apparently so much as a thought for the pain in his injured limb. Seconds later, the engine grumbled to life and Poe was spinning it around in the empty road in a cloud of red dust. The blue and red lights glinted, struggling to make any impact in the bright white light of midday. Finn only had a moment to cover his ears before the sirens started screaming.

He watched the dusty, battered old cop car race down the street, wondering why Poe thought the blues and the racing-driver exit were necessary when he was unlikely to encounter any traffic.

\---

The last glimpse Finn had of Poe were dark glasses flashing like a shadow in the rear-view mirror. Swerving neatly, the car roared as it entered onto the slip road leading to the motorway and then out of the tiny town. It accelerated at an alarming rate.

"Huh," was the only noise Finn could make. He dimly remembered one of Poe's friends bragging on a night out when everyone's lips were a little looser about how Poe was their best operational driver. Poe had sort of shrugged uncomfortably, but Finn hadn't missed the way his chest swelled ever so slightly with pride. He guessed they'd not had much opportunity for Poe to put his skills to use working on this case, so he was probably enjoying the chance for speed – even if he had a bloody broken arm.

He was struck by an inexplicable disappointment that he'd never seen Poe in real action, feeling again like an outsider. Poe usually did his best to protect his new friend from this kind of awkwardness, making sure the others welcomed him. Finn felt alone now in a way he hadn't for a long time, watching the faint cloud of dust still rising over the low rooftops of the single storey houses.

"Never seen someone make leaving a parking lot look so dramatic."

If Finn could have literally jumped out of his skin, he would have tried. Instead one of his hands flew up to his chest where his heart seemed to have found a new drum kit to try out. The other slammed onto the wrist of a stranger, a stranger who had snuck up behind him and was now _talking_. Shit. Finn hadn't heard a thing. He turned to look right, the whites of his eyes wide.

Next to him stood a slim, dark haired girl. Lady. Woman. Whatever. And she was glaring at him. Oh, God. Why? What had he done? They hadn't even been _introduced_. Her dark eyes drifted down to where he was still clutching at her arm. Oh. Okay. Fair enough. Apologetically Finn detached himself and took a couple of paces backwards to put some space between them.

"You? Where?" Sometimes Finn could be so eloquent he was surprised he'd not written a book yet. He took another look at the unfamiliar girl, realising with a start that she was wearing a police uniform. He was truly on special form today.

"Oh, um. I've been visiting a few places in town. Just some friendly checks, you know. Homes where there are DV issues, children at risk, that kind of thing."

Sounded grief-y. Finn didn't realise he'd spoken aloud until the reply came, "Yeah, not glamorous, I guess. But I'm new and that means I get to do the things no one else wants." She fixed him with a level look, the kind of expression that suggested to Finn she might not mind much at all. That perhaps she was still young enough in her career to care, to allow room for compassion. "You got a name? You're with the Feds, right? You've taken over half our main station."

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Finn offered, "Uh, yeah. I'm Finn. I work for the FBI."

The girl's face broke into a smile. For one absurd moment, all Finn could see were images of grey storm clouds breaking apart to let the sunshine in. Okay, Finn needed to stop having weird thoughts about co-workers- no, wait. Worse. Strangers. Wasn't his weird fascination with Poe sufficient without having odd thoughts about someone he'd never met before? Maybe this was the result of too much work, not enough normal social interaction? His subconscious was starting to take over and plant ideas wherever it could.

"I've never met an FBI Agent before. That's awesome. My name's Rey."

In his defence, Finn never said he was an agent. Rey made that assumption all by herself. Wearing Poe's jacket with its great big 'FBI' letters plastered all over the back probably hadn't helped prevent her from coming to an erroneous conclusion… (And, that wasn't to say Finn was chuffed she thought he _could_ be an agent.) But still. He had a job to do this afternoon and she might just turn out to be the answer to his prayers. Particularly because during their short conversation, Finn's brain had been churning in the background and he'd just realised Poe had taken their only car, leaving him stranded in the middle of nowhere.

"Yeah? Well, like I said, with the FBI. This is what some of us look like. Others look… different." He meant it to sound suave and funny, but hadn't thought far enough ahead. The words twisted and fell flat. Fortunately, Rey was still too busy being impressed. It must be the jacket. "So, um, that guy Poe- I mean, Special Agent Dameron-"

"Is he your partner?"

"Sort of, yeah. We’re working together." Nice one, Finn. Keep being economical with the truth, but don't lie. That way, she can't get mad at you later when it all comes out in the wash. Because it would come out. Finn laboured under no illusions. Women had a nose for these things. "Poe had an emergency and ran off with our car. I still have some enquiries to make. Have you got a vehicle, by any chance? I could really use a lift for, like, a couple of hours?"

Rey gave a loose roll of her shoulders. "I mean, I'd love to help. But I think I better speak to my Sergeant. Worse comes to worse, I can take you back to your Station? I'll call him now."

Finn shoved one hand in his pocket, the other still gripping the photograph of their anonymous suspect. Rey paced off across the lot. He didn't remember seeing a police car when they drove in, so he wasn't sure where that was parked up. The sun was now beating down and the intense heat enfolded him tightly. Rey's movements were confident, relaxed, like she didn't feel the heat even wrapped up in a shirt, heavy bullet-proof vest, trousers, and boots. Knowing she was nearby, might help, buoyed Finn's sense of confidence even while the rest of him felt like a sweaty mess. He'd made a friend, right? He could get done what Poe wanted.

And if it meant having a few hours to learn a bit more about this tough girl fighting crime in a tiny pocket of who knew where, Finn would be okay with that. He came back to her face again and again - there was something about Rey's features, bright and open. Finn simply felt like he could trust her, that she wouldn't leave him.

His first impressions could turn out to be totally wrong, of course, but somehow, he didn't think so.

\---

 _'You see a man stuck in the rain_  
_Stranded with no friends and_  
_From the goodness of your heart_  
_You saved him from the flood._  
_A couple miles down the road_  
_He's covered in your blood.'_

\---

Sliding his fingers into a pair of blue latex gloves, Poe glanced down at his full-on CSI suit. They really weren't taking any chances. He understood. Walking carefully due to the plastic wrappers over his shoes, Poe caught up with the enthusiastic rookie who was babbling away at him. Poe thought the guy probably didn't realise who he was, didn't realise the connection to the scene. Otherwise he imagined a lot less chatting and a lot more confused, uncomfortable staring.

And Poe wanted him to talk for the minute.

Ackbar already had him on the back foot, so he needed as much detail as possible to get up to speed before the grilling started.

"'Course we didn't come up with 'Starkiller' – the Press started that one. We're not supposed to use it in public. Don't want to glamorise murder or whatever. Everyone calls him that though in the office – bit more specific than 'suspect' or 'unsub'. You know why he's got that nickname?"

"Uh – sorta, but you can take me through it."

They were walking through the apartment and it was gorgeous. Every piece of furniture screamed bespoke, the fabrics and colour schemes clean and neutral. Either the occupant here had exceptional taste or they could afford a real good interior decorator. A few personal touches marked the place as a home, rather than just an empty space. The keys dropped haphazardly on a glass coffee table, newspaper left open on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. A small quantity of mail neatly stacked in a letter tidy by the door. All the little touches that told you whoever lived here hadn't expected such a rude, abrupt end to their life.

The neighbourhood outside was nice as well. The apartment block had good security – you'd have needed buzzing up to get into the flat. He could already tell from the front door that no forced entry had taken place. Poe half wondered whether there were any cameras around. Then he refocused back on his guide. This wasn't his scene. This perp not familiar.

"It's the way he lays the bodies out. When he's done. They've all been different, but usually they match some sort of zodiac sign or star constellation. It's weirdly…complicated." Poe thought maybe the guy had hesitated over the word 'poetic,' but pulled back. He'd seen a couple of photos, when they'd been looking through live cases that might match with their own. No detail, though. They'd no need to go prying further at that point.

They reached a small area where a series of closed doors led off to the other more private rooms – bedroom, bathroom, maybe study Poe guessed. The skinny CSI taking him through stopped him with a tentative hand to the chest. "Look, I got to be honest with you. It's not good. Plenty of people been sick after seeing their first scene from this killer. If you have any bad feelings, just get out. Forensics are mostly done, but they may want to come back in a couple of hours. I'll be strung up if you ruin the scene."

Poe nodded absently, but his eyes were focused over the stranger's shoulder. The bedroom door was open a jar and the white flashes of light from a camera had caught Poe's attention. Each burst seemed to illuminate a different detail – the lamp tumbled onto the floor, the rumpled sheets, ripped coverlet, and the blood stains dripping over the sides of the luxurious bed to horrible scarlet waves on the panelled wood floor. It was intimate and immediately horrifying, like Poe could see it starting to play out before his eyes. The easy hook up, the initial openness and attempts to relax with a new partner, the high before the terrible, terrible crash when you realise you've embraced a monster.

"Alright, man?"

"Yeah," Poe tore his gaze away, "Yeah, fine. Where are you with what might have happened?"

"So, vic probably killed sometime in the early hours of the morning. This guy doesn't have a standard 'type' as such. He seems like the practical kind. Goes looking in places where he's likely to have a successful hunt. Anyway, no sign of struggle outside bedroom. Working theory is that they met in a bar or somewhere in town, came back here together. Things got steamy in the bedroom department and then when he'd lulled the defences, he struck."

"You're sure the person you're looking for is male?"

"Statistics and sort of strength you'd need to set up these elaborates scenes stacks that in our favour. There's also the sexual-"

Poe held up a gloved hand. "I'm good with leaving it at statistics for the moment. How did the victim die?"

"Probably blood loss. Multiple stab wounds. Difficult to tell exactly what order they were inflicted in. Look, I really have to warn you again. The guy's lower half is not in a good way. When we go in, it's going to smell bad. You wanna get out, just motion and I'll move you."

The guy – who might initially have introduced himself as Rob – seemed totally earnest. For the first time, Poe fixed on his warnings with a sense of gravity. He didn't know what to expect and if this was the pep talk, he was frankly terrified of what might be on the other side of the door. "It's fine, honestly. I'll have a quick look to start with and if I can stomach it, you can take me over the detail."

Satisfied that Poe didn't pose a risk to his crime scene, Rob nodded solemnly. "Better get it over with."

With his own gloved hand, he twisted the bronze door handle and softly pushed the white door open. The room inside had been a spacious study/bedroom from the looks of things. A run of desk and expensive electrical equipment took up the left side of the room and an oversized bed dominated the other. Poe wasn't a great expert, but he'd be willing to bet this guy had the best of everything.

A huge bay window allowed in crisp, white daylight, drawing Poe's attention in that direction. Directly in the centre, a dark leather desk chair had been pulled out. It was a hulking monstrous thing, the kind Poe imagined the CEOs of huge corporations possessing. The black leather back curved down to the cushioned seat, affording Poe his first sight of the corpse.

Lightly tanned with dark hair, the guy's face was pretty much intact. A slight split of the lip and some bruising under the cheekbone the initial hint of violent. One cheek rested on the chair's seat, the man's left arm laid out and draped neatly behind his head. It gave the impression of a louche, relaxedness – as though the man were lolling on the floor whilst waiting for a lover, his legs delicately curled to one side. Poe wondered how the killer managed to get the body to stay in place, before he realised with a start that a knife had been driven straight through the guy's palm into the material of the chair seat, anchoring him.

The victim was naked, apart from one piece of clothing; Poe felt the nausea building. He recognised the dark jacket. It was standard issue and could have belonged to any of his colleagues. But it didn't. Seeing it now, offering this corpse some meagre ounce of dignity was utterly horrific.

The jacket gaped open, revealing how bruises littered his neck and down his chest, hints of fingertips but not enough to pick out the size of a hand. Raw markings at the wrist and the blooms of purple told a similar story of forced restraint. It was at this point the state of the body deteriorated.

From the bottom of his ribcage to his pelvis, it was like someone had shredded skin, muscle, fat. Poe could count a number of stab wounds. The piece de resistance, however, was the fact that this man had been disembowelled. There was no other way to describe it. A gaping wound stretched from one side of his stomach to the other and the innards tumbled out accordingly. They lay curled in a messy pile on the bloodied floor. Next to them, a wine glass rested in the lax fingers of the man's other arm. It was full of a viscose red liquid. No need to ask. Poe already knew.

The overall effect of the tableau was strange, as though some parts were out of place. Draped so softly across the chair, Poe found himself thinking it was as though the man should be kneeling at the feet of a powerful king. The whole setting wouldn't have looked out of place if you chucked in some togas, laurel wreathes, and a dramatic throne.

He felt a gentle touch to his wrist; Rob asked quietly, "Seen enough? We can talk outside and come back?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Poe nodded. In the days since his escape, Poe refused to consider the odds he'd been facing. Confronted with the corpse, the man realised how close he'd come to death. But for the strange luck in the way a wall rotted, it could have been his body illuminated by flashes of unfeeling white light. It could have been his last moments experts would ponder over and hypothesise about. Detached from fear, from those final seconds of struggle, how could any of them possibly _know_?

Fuck, this was messing with his head.

Poe stumbled after Rob, unable to quite co-ordinate the movement of his legs. Noting the condition Poe was in, Rob not unkindly gestured that they'd move into the kitchen area where one chair had been cleared for people to rest on. No longer able to bear Rob's quiet, but slightly pompous pity, Poe forced himself to start talking. "That was brutal. How many people have you seen like this?"

"This is the fifth body. BAU think he escalated up to this level of display though. There are probably others that we haven't connected yet."

Nodding in reply, Poe valiantly pushed himself into a detective mind set. He needed to ignore his own personal trauma right now. Otherwise, Leia was right. He'd prove he wasn't capable of dealing with this. "Sexual assault?"

"Clear signs. No trace of DNA. Whoever this guy is, he's meticulous about that."

"Not a hair – nothing?"

"No trace. Fingerprints, shoeprints, no sign."

"Murder weapons?"

"Variety of knives, but they all came from in here. He may have blades he carries with him, but he also makes use of what he can get. Probably knows it reduces his chances of being caught, going to look a bit odd if you're stopped on the street carrying a fuckload of knives."

"So vic died from the stab wounds?"

Rob pulled a face, displaying a sense of discomfort for the first time. "No one's sure yet. He was definitely drugged. Substance left him conscious, but pliant. He would have been aware of everything, but almost paralysed. Whatever happened, started in the bedroom. Assault, then the stabbing. I hate to say it, but quite a standard MO. It's a working theory though that the guy was still alive when moved next to the chair. That he would have still been alive when the bastard cut his stomach open."

Poe pinched the bridge of his nose, a sense of sadness like he'd not felt in a long time threatening to overwhelm him. "Right. This kind of display in line with what you've seen before?"

"Yep. This guy was twenty-nine. Other vics have been a bit older, bit younger. Sort of around same ballpark. He's killed men and women. Gender seems irrelevant. No particular hair type or build. He doesn't go for bigger guys, but that might be more about needing to keep control. BAU working theory again is that he's probably between twenty-five to thirty-five and meets his victims in person. He charms them, gets an in. Kills them. Then lays them out."

"What constellation is this supposed to be?"

Rob paused for a moment, swiping through an iPad that had been resting on a kitchen counter top where Poe guessed he'd got a selection of notes.

"We're not one hundred percent, but it’s probably Aquarius." Poe looked blank. "It's the cup – Aquarius is the water carrier. Associated with a couple of other mythological figures, probably the most well-known is Ganymede." Rob was basically reading verbatim now, clear that his understanding of the finer points of Greek mythology was no better than Poe's. "Ganymede was cup bearer to the Gods. Said to be so beautiful he attracted the attention of Zeus himself, who transformed into an eagle and kidnapped him. Jeez- these stories are pretty fucked u-"

Colour drained from Poe's face. "And the jacket he's wearing?"

"That's a bit unusual, actually. The other bodies have been naked or nearly naked. Certainly the clothing didn't play a special part in the laying out. CSIs have looked at the label – belongs to a P. Dameron. Last I saw of Ackbar, he marched out of here saying he had a theory about that. Pretty freaky."

"Yeah," Poe agreed weakly, "Freaky. By the way," he held out a now clammy hand, "I don't think I introduced myself earlier. I'm Special Agent Poe Dameron."

Rob gazed at him with horror, "Oh, man. Shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> | **Song Credits:** _The Hunted_ , Snow Ghosts  
>  _Always Something_ , Cage The Elephant


	7. Chapter Seven: Night-Time Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your comments and kudos!
> 
> I think we're covered warning-wise by the tags on the chapter, but just in case - brief mentions of sexual assault.
> 
> Maybe an additional warning for Kylo and Hux's complete lack of anything resembling remorse?

**Chapter Seven**

**Night-Time Creatures**

_'I close my eyes, just close the door;_  
_You want a minute, I'll give you more._  
_Maybe I don't want you either-_  
_We're both unsettled night-time creatures.'_

\---

The air was so humid. Sometimes Kylo felt like he was suffocating, like he couldn't possibly be inhaling enough oxygen. He lay stretched out on the hard bed in the dingy motel room. Outside it was dark, the orange glow of the street lights shining through the thin striped curtain fabric. He normally wouldn't risk having the window open, but he was two storeys up and it was just too fucking hot.

He could feel sweat pooling at the small of his back and wondered how he would ever find rest tonight. The grainy television at the end of the bed finally stood quiet. Kylo kept the news channel on for as long as he could bear, waiting in quiet anxiety for the masterpiece Hux had promised. He'd seen nothing concrete yet. Local reports of a potential homicide a couple of states across, but they hadn't come out with the detail.

A tiny fragment of him was… not worried, exactly. Kylo had looked out for himself for so long, any thoughts about emotions like love or trust were long crumbled. Caring about people, opening yourself up to them, it all led to weakness and pain. Kylo didn't mind pain, but if it was going to be present in his life, he was damn well going to be in control.

So, no. He didn't worry about Hux. What he couldn't deny was the slight tightening in his chest that didn't seem to relax until the man checked in after his kill, until Kylo spoke to him fresh with memories of a new shattered body at his feet.

Perhaps it was because they'd let this develop into a pattern, into ritual. He missed it now because of habit. They were drawn to each other like an addict to their poison. Lulled by the singing of insects outside, Kylo's eyelids did eventually flutter closed. He drifted in a shallow sleep, plagued by half dreams so close to reality he sometimes lost the distinction between waking and unconsciousness. When his new cheap mobile blared to life, Kylo's heart ran faster than it had since his last kill, fired up by a sudden shock of adrenaline.

_"I wish you could have seen it."_

Hux's voice was deep and husky. If he hadn't already jerked off, Kylo couldn't imagine him waiting long. His tone rumbled with need. "I saw the news."

_"They've not released the details yet, but they will."_

"Was it good?"

_"Oh, so good. So, so good. He couldn't even scream, just made these pitiful noises. If he'd been able to speak, he would have begged so beautifully."_

"Did you fuck him?" Jealousy. It crept into his mouth, infected his words. Kylo couldn't pinpoint the moment when picturing Hux intimate with another person became such a painful pleasure.

Hux snorted, _"Of course I fucked him. Got him nice and relaxed, stretched him open, and took what I wanted. The first time. It was all a bit less candles and rose petals when I pulled out the knife and the drugs started working."_

His hand found his crotch, gently tracing the line of his cock in his sweat-damp underpants. It was harder than he'd expected, Hux's words sending that illicit shudder of arousal singing down his nerves. "He was pretty then?"

_"Sure, pretty hot. Nicely toned stomach. Shame I made such a mess of it. And he had these handfuls of thick, dark hair. Co-incidence, but you know who it reminded me of?"_

Kylo knew. Oh, God, did he know. Holding the phone in place with his chin against his shoulder, Kylo's fingers fussed clumsily with the waistband of his pants. They had to come off. He lifted his hips to shuck them down his legs, sighing audibly with relief at the contact.

 _"Are you touching yourself?"_ No accusation, no condemnation, but no approval either. Hux always did have a good poker face.

"Did you imagine it was him when you fucked?"

_"Maybe."_

"I wish you'd been in there with me when I broke his arm. That we could have touched him together."

 _"Kylo-"_ Hux's tone changed audibly, seriousness weighting his words. Kylo paused his ministrations, reluctantly ceasing to tease the weeping tip of his cock. What a way to ruin the mood. _"You should know something. I- I left the jacket there. I used it, to dress the body. I couldn't help it. I was so angry."_

Kylo sat up, shuffling backwards in bed, "Shit. You- You did that? They'll make the link now. They'll work it out that we're connected."

He could almost hear the shrug of Hux's skinny shoulders, " _Are you angry?"_

"No, surprised maybe. I didn't think you would ever make such a public avowal."

_"It's not a fucking proposal, Ren."_

"I know. From the second we took Dameron, they were going to up their game. It's better that we control how much they know for as long as possible. So what, they make a connection. They won't know what it means, how deep it runs."

_"I need to lie low for a while. Let the heat of the chase cool off. We both do. Could be useful to wait together? We've got the upper hand for the moment, so let's plan how to use it."_

Abruptly Kylo wanted to be alone with his thoughts, needed space to process the rapid changes threatening to swallow them like a riptide. "Let me know how to find you. I'll leave tomorrow." He closed the connection before Hux could say anything else. Or choose not to speak further. Kylo refused to leave that power with him tonight. At the end of the day, this was his game they were playing now. His rules, his memories.

Almost on autopilot, Kylo's hand returned to his cock. The spell Hux wove, the promise of what he'd done to the man stupid enough to welcome a serpent into his home – it didn't hold the same kind of magic now. No. Kylo's thoughts drifted back further, to that old church, to the warm sunlight and thin dappled shade of a forest. He thought about a shirtless chest, covered in a sheen of sweat and heaving with exertion. He bit his lip, remembering the satisfying crack of bone as his makeshift club came down.

Minutes later, he came hard. Cleaning up with the cheap tissues provided in the room, Kylo finally settled back into his uneasy sleep. He hoped jacking off would have taken the edge of the need to hunt, the desire burning through his veins. But it wasn't enough to satiate his dreams. They hungered loudly through the night.

\---

 _'Seeping through the cracks,_  
_I'm the poison in your bones._  
_My love is your disease,_  
_I won't let it set you free,_  
_'Til I break you.'_

\---

Poe sat in an interview room, a paper cup of awful, cheap coffee in front of him. Leia positioned herself beside him and on the other side of the table Ackbar and another agent working the Starkiller case. They were silent for the minute, eyeing each other whilst trying to understand what this wholly unexpected union meant.

There was a recorder on the wooden top, so Poe understood questions would be asked at some point. God, he'd love nothing more right now than to be back in that car with Finn on the hot, dusty roads. Drifting from bar to store to motel, chasing leads and charming interviewees. He imagined Finn would gradually emerge further from his protective shell, trusting and sharing more of his past and dreams for the future. How did this all get so fucked up?

Sadly, he couldn't even imagine Finn wearing his jacket in this daydream because any thought of that garment made him instantly nauseous.

At last, Ackbar grew fed up with them shooting nervous glances at each other and decided to break the deadlock. "We need to get a strategy together. At the moment, the crossover between our cases isn't well-known. That won't last forever and when it gets out, we're going to have seniors crawling all over us."

Everyone nodded, weighted down by the thought of the work lay ahead. Poe couldn't continue to sit on his hands any longer, so he screwed up his confidence and leapt off the edge, "Analysts. Get the two teams together and start them going on the basic details – dates of kills, times, locations. See if they can scratch out any kind of pattern. Or lack of one. At least if there was nothing obvious to tie it all together, we can get that documented to back ourselves up when the questions get asked."

"Gial, I brought my lead analyst with me. I hope you don't mind, but I told her just to find your team and get going."

Ackbar shook his head, but didn't disagree. He sat for a moment and rubbed his hand across his chin. He looked like a man who had something on his mind and was unable to work out the right way to release the thoughts. "I understand that you have a potential suspect for your case."

Leia's skin was the colour of ash, even in the artificial light of the interview room, "It's only a hypothesis. We've got people conducting enquiries to see if we substantiate it further."

"Who is it?"

"Gial, please- You must have been told."

"Tell me who it is. I want to hear it from you."

Poe's gaze flickered between them, both experienced investigators and leaders engaged in some sort of battle of wills Poe didn't understand. There was something about this whole case he just wasn't getting, it nagged at his mind like an itch you couldn't scratch. Every time he thought it was squared away, it returned irritating and not to be ignored.

Leia's lips thinned, "Kylo Ren."

It was like all the air went from the room, as though that name alone had the power to drain life and energy. For a second, no one moved; they all seemed even to stop breathing. "That's not a name you should be throwing round on a whim, Organa."

"I told you we're _trying_ to rule it out or in. Before this episode with Poe's jacket, I didn't want many people knowing it was a theory, so I only had a couple of people out asking the questions. Like you said, it's not a name to conjure with lightly."

The mention of his jacket appeared to remind Ackbar that Poe was still in the room. He stirred, straightening himself up and smoothing his hair flat across his strange forehead – simultaneously narrow and bulging. Although there was more grey spreading from his temples since Poe had last seen him, it still maintained its primarily warm, honey brown tones. But age was inexorably creeping up on him, hunting him stealthily like Leia.

"I cannot pretend to be an expert on your investigation, Special Agent Dameron. However, it strikes me there are two possibilities here. Firstly, your abduction was a random act of chance. Second, the decision to target you was deliberate. If Kylo Ren were to become a formal suspect, is there any reason why he might seek you out in particular?"

Poe's arm throbbed viciously and he felt a returning wave of anxiety sweep over him. Ultimately Leia would have ended up asking him the same question – this turn of events had just forced it all to speed up horribly. Poe was out of control and unprepared, not ready yet to talk about that afternoon, the interminable days and weeks after. He'd been through it all so many times in the enquiry afterwards. Hadn't that been enough? Now it had to be dragged from him again, burning his throat sore and ripping off the fragile scabs on his memories?

He forced himself to speak, "Look, I told everything to the post-incident investigation. It's all there on record."  _Don't make me say it._

"Dameron, all those files are classified. We're going to have to request special permission to access them. That'll take days. You can help us now."

He couldn't look at Leia, so Poe kept staring straight ahead with a blank face. His back teeth ground involuntarily together and he was sure he must look so sulky and contrary. The man next to Ackbar opened his mouth, no doubt about to chastise Poe or offer some unhelpful suggestion. Wordlessly, Poe held up his good arm. "Short answer? Yes. Kylo Ren might have a reason to seek me out personally. Course, he didn't use that name back then."

\---

Poe was back in a strangely empty accommodation block. There were only a couple of windows letting in a strange light – it shouldn't be dark yet, but lumbering storm clouds prematurely blocked the warm sun. The air was close, hot, and sticky. The storm would break soon and Poe hoped he'd be back in his own room, tucked away safely before that happened.

He glanced down at the phone in his hand – used for work only (which meant assisting with training new recruits for the foreseeable future), he didn't expect to receive text messages on it all that often. The silence in what should have been an area bustling with life made him instinctively uncomfortable. Poe couldn't remember where the rest of the group were meant to be. Had they gone out? Studying somewhere else on site?

Why hadn't Ben got in touch with one of the guys or girls training with him? If he was sick, sure let an instructor know if necessary… It wouldn't have been Poe's first port of call though, back in the day. He'd have done pretty much anything to look invincible. But there you go, maybe Ben was worried about showing weakness to fellow students or some crap like that?

The limited light filtering into the corridor took on a faint yellow sheen as Poe counted his way passed door after door. He'd not been down here since his own initial training and it was bringing back all sorts of memories. He felt weighted by the nostalgia and desperate to be back out in the open air. Reaching the right room, Poe swiftly knocked, "Solo? Ben? It's Agent Dameron, I got your message and just wanted to check you were okay."

Silence rushed back as a tidal wave, muffling the last echoes of his voice. There was no reply; he couldn't even hear any movement within the room. It should have been about then Poe started to give an ear to the voice inside his head whispering that this wasn't quite right. If he'd been smart, he'd have gone to get another trainer. As it was, Poe had been young and verged on the risky side of arrogant. It didn't occur to him that he might not have full control of this situation.

Shrugging in frustration, Poe tried the door. It swung open without resistance, inviting Poe into a dark room. He peered into the gloom, illuminated only by more of the sickly yellow light that skulked in around the edges of the curtains. They were drawn, leaving most of the room covered in shadow. Confused and starting to veer towards mild alarm, Poe took a hesitant step inside. His steps were muffled by the thin, industrial carpet.

Poe didn't need good lighting to know the layout of this room. He'd spent weeks in one very similar and the facilities for training staff weren't exactly much of an upgrade. He groped forwards, wondering if he would find Ben unconscious, sleeping off whatever illness had taken hold. A metre or so inside the room and Poe knew the bed was empty. He was just wondering about locating the light switch when the hackles rose on the back of his neck.

It was the change in temperature that really set his senses racing. He could feel the body heat emanating from the man behind him. Ben must be real close. _Too close_ supplied that alarmist voice. "So thoughtful of you to come and check up on me."

Poe wasn't an expert, but Ben didn't sound all that sick. In fact, he sounded like his usual aloof, mildly patronising self. If this was all part of some prank, Poe was going to get beyond mad.

"Fuck, Solo. I thought you were really sick." He turned with half a mind to poke an accusing finger into the kid's chest. His breath caught when that movement practically had his nose touching Ben’s clothes. Why was he so fucking close? Poe stepped back on instinct, not liking the invasion of his space. Ben followed, matching pace for pace as they backed further into the room.

"Still. You could have asked someone else to come, Poe."

"We've been through this – it's Agent Dameron."

"Next you'll be asking me to call you 'Sir'." The title sounded positively filthy, the way Ben rolled it out of his mouth and lingered on the consonants. "I think you'd like that. I've seen the way you look at me."

Abruptly a sick sense of panic blossomed in Poe's stomach. This was wrong. This was all so very, very wrong and it was about to get immeasurably more horrible. Just the thought of what Ben was implying- Poe couldn't even think, momentarily paralysed. Did Ben really think Poe would leer at him, would even consider taking advantage of his position of authority?

Then another sickening thought occurred. What if he _had_ sent misleading signals? Ben was striking; he couldn't deny it. Tall, aquiline, athletic. Poe appreciated beauty and power when he saw it, but that didn't mean he'd been making doe eyes. Beyond a basic aesthetic appraisal, Poe viewed Ben exactly as any other recruit. Weighing up talents and faults, wanting to work out where to push to make him the best he could be.

In the time Poe's mind had been racing, Ben backed him up so that he was pressed against the wall at the far end of the room. The curtains fluttered in a soft, warm breeze. Closer to the light, the contours of Ben's face were picked out. There was no trace of mirth in his eyes, no promise that this was all a cruel practical joke. He looked at Poe with an intensity that was frightening. A word occurred to the smaller man then: obsession. Perhaps Ben had developed a crush and deluded himself into thinking it was reciprocated? Whether a misunderstanding or not, Poe had to stop it.

Instinctively, Poe brought his hands up, preventing Ben from advancing any further without creating contact between them. Ben had manoeuvred Poe into a weak position; he needed to make up for the tactical ground lost. "Solo- Ben, look. If I've done something to make you think I'm-" Poe could hardly bear to voice the words, forcing himself to choke them out, "I'm interested… Romantically. Sexually. Whatever. I'm sorry, but that's not the case at all."

Ben didn't move. His expression – already impassive – stayed blank. Unsettled, the words tumbled faster from Poe's lips, "Just back off now, Ben. I'll go and we'll leave it at that. You don't want anything to end up on your record, right? I'll have to report this if you don't cut it out."

The young man's head tilted, thick black hair catching the light and glinting. Instead of stepping back and using some damned common sense, Ben pressed in further. His hands raised to rest either side of Poe's head. He ensured no part of them touched, but Poe recognised the motion for what it was. Trapped. Like an animal. Caged. His nostrils flared with panic, mind running to all the different hand combat techniques he could use to correct this fucked up situation. Poe could never understand why, but even now he couldn't bring himself to hit Ben, to resort to physical violence.

"I wonder how long it's been," Ben mused softly, almost to himself, "since someone made you feel like this?"

A faintly hysterical giggle threatened to fall from Poe's lips. Feel like what? At risk of sexual assault? Like someone could walk in any second and he could lose his job? Guilt that he might have accidentally led this kid into thinking he desired him? Where to start?

"How long since someone made you realise they could take what they want from you and you'd be powerless to stop them?"

Poe opened his mouth, anger just beginning to simmer in his stomach. What the fuck did Ben think he was? Some sort of helpless civilian? He was forgetting that Poe had years of training, experience in the field. He'd damned well been leading some of Ben's physical training classes, "I think you're overestimating yourself a bit there."

Solo's lips quirked and the expression he wore suggested he was about to ruffle Poe's hair, congratulate him for trying. "I think you're underestimating me. I think you're underestimating how far I'll go to get what I want. You forget, I'm very well trained as well. I didn't just start learning here. I'm taller than you. Stronger than you. Probably faster. If we fought, I would win."

Brown eyes glared back up at Ben, as Poe physically stopped himself from bristling with indignation. Indignation. Right. That's what prompted the shudder. Not a sudden flash of fear, a frigid sensation of knowing that maybe Solo was right. That even if they did end up scrapping in this room, it would likely end up with Poe flat on the floor and Ben on top of him. That image didn't help Poe's state of mind in the slightest.

"Have you lost your mind?" Poe snarled, finally giving Ben's chest a forceful shove. "You're jeopardising your entire future career. For what? A quick fuck? Grow up, Ben. Get the hell out of the way and let me leave before you do yourself any more damage."

Or at least, that's what Poe would have said if he'd been able to get beyond the words 'quick fuck'. Presumably not liking what he heard, Ben took the opportunity to seize Poe's wrists in a firm grip. Poe had a moment to dimly realise Ben had really big hands – they encircled his forearms comfortably before raising them up and pinning them either side of Poe’s head. Without another word, Ben pressed his lips against Poe's, his entire body melting against the man trapped beneath him.

Shocked, Poe tried to gasp without thinking of the consequences. Given room for manoeuvre, Ben deepened the kiss. Trusting to the fact Poe was still off balance from the surprise, he released one wrist, wrapping a strong arm around his waist to draw him closer. Poe could scent a faint hint of sweat and the fragrance from Ben's shampoo, could feel how soft his hair was as it played against his cheeks.

The first thought to occur was that… it wasn't wholly unpleasant. Ben's lips were soft and cool; this evidently was not his first kiss. But it was also so, so wrong. Poe didn't want this. Not now. Perhaps if things were different in a million ways. Thankfully Ben soon pulled back, moving his lips to rest just below Poe's right ear. The sound of their breathing could have been as loud as the approaching thunderstorm. Poe's chest heaved with the extra weight of the body above him, stilled only when Ben whispered, "Tell me now there's nothing between us. You'd be a liar and we both know it."

With Ben's distinctive features no longer blocking Poe's view of the room, he found a brief opportunity to think with a clearer head. He was faintly terrified Ben was about to do something even more fucking stupid – like leave a hickey on his neck, but if it distracted the guy, whatever. It was clear Solo was teetering on the edge of reason. Poe didn't want to fight, but he'd been given more than enough justification. He'd have to report this. And, God, what if it got ugly? He'd seen allegations of sexual assault between colleagues turn into the nastiest of battles, ultimately boiling down to the word of one party against another.

Poe didn't want to lose his job in front of a Review Board. His thoughts were cut short when Ben found a particularly sensitive spot on his throat; he couldn't help the gasp that escaped when Ben's lips teased the hollow just under his earlobe. It was too personal, a wholly unwelcome invasion. With a surge of newfound purpose, Poe pushed his free hand warningly against the bottom of Solo's throat. The pressure on his neck encouraged Ben to detach himself.

Considering a next move, Poe carefully began to widen his stance to allow for his weight to shift onto one leg. Just in case, for example, he might want to introduce his knee to Ben's groin. Forcefully. Easy to read, Ben simply countered by sliding a powerful thigh in between Poe's legs. It pressed against him intimately, "That would be unadvisable." Arrogant bastard.

"This has got to stop, Ben. I could press assault charges on you right now. Let me leave; no more harm done. We'll deal with this internally. You've only got a few weeks left; I'm sure you can prove it was an error of judgement and nothing more."

Poe's dark brown eyes were so earnest. They practically swam with emotion in the murky light. And it wasn't self-pity, wasn't horror at his own risk. He really did seem to care, genuinely didn't want Ben to take a step down a path of no return. It was a bit fucking late for that, but Ben appreciated the intention all the same.

They stood still for a moment in the pre-storm twilight. Both men understood they were balanced on the edge of a precipice and whether they plunged or not depended solely on Ben. Did he have the control to pull back? Or was he too far gone to the pull of unnameable darker desires?

"You could jeopardise your entire future. Is it worth it?"

The question hung in the air between them. At length, something changed in Ben's eyes. They stopped pursuing every emotion that flickered across Poe's face with such a greedy hunger. It was almost like watching the dilated, unnatural pupils of a predator shrink to their natural size as the instinct to kill receded.

Poe wanted to believe it was his words that made the impression, that he'd talked Ben back from forcefully pursuing his desires. In the coming days, he would tell himself Ben was thinking about his career, the promise of the road ahead.

The blood staining his hands red four weeks later forced him to confront the truth.

Ben certainly hadn't wanted to impede future plans.

Just not the ones Poe had in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Shadow Preachers_ , Zella Day  
>  _The Devil Within_ , Digital Daggers


	8. Chapter Eight: Caught in the Crosshairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for comments and kudos. I really appreciate the feedback!
> 
> This week, I give you something resembling plot advancement?
> 
> But then we go right back to Kylo's frankly disturbing imagination, so... you know... warning for that. <.<

**Chapter Eight**

**Caught in the Crosshairs**

_'You can't run from the smoking gun;_  
_Caught in the crosshairs of the things we've done;_  
_There's no hiding place,_  
_Not a secret safe.'_

\---

"I nearly lost my job," Poe finished. His voice was gravelly and rough, worn out by the words and scalded by the intensity of the memories. "I was up in front of the enquiry examining the Quantico incident. The only reason they didn't sack me was because I did go and speak to the Head of Training straight after the incident. It was formally recorded; Ben was severely reprimanded and basically given a final warning; all other trainers were quietly advised to watch for any other behaviour that might suggest a future as an FBI Agent wasn't in Ben's best interest."

Poe stopped, reaching for his cold cup of coffee. He avoided looking at anyone else in the room, knowing he would react badly to whatever he saw. Whether pity or disgust or the carefully neutral expression of the well-practised interrogator.

"I saw no further indications of odd behaviour. My character and conduct were vindicated by multiple witnesses who swore under oath that I hadn't acted inappropriately at any point. The psychs they brought in also suggested that the incident in the dormitory, whilst relatively recent, was unlikely to have been a specific trigger-"

Ackbar interrupted, "I understand you weren't at the exact location in Quantico when it happened."

Poe shook his head, "You both already knew that's what happened and the problems it caused me. Couldn't exactly deny that Ben broke my arm in a self-defence class three days before he went psycho. It was impossible to prove it was anything other than a training accident. I was back from hospital resting and trying to get used to the fucking cast. I got to the scene not long after he'd fled. There was nothing I could do."

"What did they ask you at the Review Board, Poe?"

The slight man's lips twisted into a vicious curl, "They speculated whether I might have been aware or colluding with him. That it was deeply suspicious he'd so carefully arranged for me not to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those _allegations_ nearly cost me my career. They dragged my name through the mud and nobody wanted me after."

"That's not true, Poe." Leia sat very still, her eyes suspiciously watery.

Abruptly Poe stood, the shriek of chair legs scraping over cheap flooring piercing. "I can't do this right now. If I haven't given you enough, I need some time."

No one uttered a word as he left, struggling uncomfortably to pull on his jacket with one good arm. A few seconds after the door firmly closed, Ackbar turned to Leia, "Does he know?"

She shook her head, not sure she could trust herself to speak.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"What? That the man who gunned down his entire FBI training class and who appears to wish to do the same to him after satiating an obscene sexual obsession is my son?"

Ackbar fixed her with a look, unimpressed by her rare display of self-pity. Moral ground to deny Poe full access to the truth was severely lacking. It was never really a choice. Leia felt her shoulders droop, "Yes. I'll tell him today. You're right; he deserves to know."

\---

Leia found her agent standing outside, his one good forearm resting on metal railing as he overlooked the cars parked outside the police station. It was a reasonably bustling place, with people trudging up and down the steps constantly. The black look on Poe's features though meant they were given a wide radius.

Oblivious to all the misery, the sun shone down, enabling even the dull black tarmac to glitter. The air away from the mercy of the air conditioning was stifling. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on Poe's forehead, but his gaze was fixed firmly on the clean, clean blue of the sky. He looked like he was praying, but Leia knew better.

"You did a good job. Back in there with Ackbar. I know it's not an easy thing to talk about, especially with strangers."

Poe pressed his lips together, bleaching them white from the pressure. "It's always the same. When people find out. They look at you with that mixture of pity and disgust, judging you for your mistakes and telling themselves they'd have done a better job in the same situation. I think you're the only person I've ever met who doesn't do that."

Leia swallowed, trying to find somewhere in herself the courage to admit to her own failings. "That's because I understand what you're going through, what it's like to ask yourself again and again whether you made a mistake."

He turned to his boss, expression heavy with self-admonishment. Leia wondered how many nights Poe lay awake, running through those weeks and cataloguing each and every moment he would rewrite if given the chance. She wondered if Poe lost as many hours as she did, surprised she'd not realised before how the heavy burden still lay upon him. She'd been blinded by her own grief, satisfied she'd already given Poe all the help he needed.

"There's something you need to know about Quantico, about Ben Solo. There's a reason why I know the case files inside out, why I was there to watch you questioned by the Review Board."

Poe said nothing, waiting for the truths to lay themselves bare. God, this was harder than she'd thought. It would have helped if Poe was angry, demanding the answers from her at greater speed. His taciturn acceptance was unnerving for a man usually so passionate and driven. "I know that you shouldn't even let yourself think what happened was your fault. Just like I know Luke didn't need to abandon his work and his family to atone. Just like I can't live blaming myself for the choices Ben made."

Poe squinted at her. He was clearly trying to process the revelations, trying to understand where her spiel was leading. "Luke? As in, Luke _Skywalker_? FBI legend? You knew him?"

"Yes, I knew him. I knew him pretty damned well before he up and left. He's my brother."

The colour left Poe's face with an almost comic speed. "You're related to Luke Skywalker? Shit. What a family."

"Luke took what happened with Ben harder than all of us. The questions about his professional judgement were extremely difficult for him. He wasn't sure whether he really had been impartial or if his weakness, his love for his family, had been the reason for so much pain. It must have been difficult trying to face up to the idea that your nephew was at best, unsuited in his personality to this type of work, or at worst mentally unstable."

"Wait- Nephew? That means Ben- You're-" Poe took an unsteady step backwards, not horrified as such, but overwhelmed by all the memories, assumptions, idle thoughts he needed to reassess in light of this new information. And because a small, angry part of him resented being lied to. Had Ben's irrational desires drawn him into some sort of family dispute – made him an unwitting pawn?

"I'm sorry for not telling you the truth, Poe. You of all people must understand what it's like to avoid an event that defines you. Luke and I- we're part of an old guard; we cut our teeth on different stuff – drug cartels in South America mostly. They looked on us with pity – pity made easier by Luke's decision to publicly shoulder the blame and resign. But you- I saw the way that Review Board treated you, seeking another scapegoat for what my _son_ had done. There wasn't a huge amount of protection I could give you, but I could ensure you kept a job, that you would have time to rebuild your reputation and return to the career you wanted."

Poe pulled a face, trying to force his lips into semblance of a smile. This was too deep and he needed time on his own even just to begin getting his head around things. "You offered me a job out of pity?" He meant it to sound light-hearted and was surprised by the bitterness in his tone. Nice one, Dameron. Want to let any more residual animosity slip out there?

"Not out of pity, no. I offered you a job because you're a damned good agent and letting skill like that go to waste would have been a crime in its own right. You haven't proven me wrong yet. I'm just sorry that I seem to have dragged you right back to the place we all wanted to leave behind."

A few seconds passed and Poe could feel any surges of upset or anger slowly ebb from his body. Instead he felt weighted by exhaustion. Shuffling back to his leaning post, Poe found himself standing side by side with Leia. Their shoulders brushed softly and a genuine smile returned to his face. She gazed at him with obvious relief, probably having worried he wouldn't take the revelations well. But the way Poe saw it, you don't come across many true friends in your life and it looked like he'd been gifted one here. Damn anyone who tried to stop him proving his gratitude to her.

A tiny light sprang back to life behind Leia's eyes, making them twinkle with a hint of mischief. Poe was willing to bet she must have been a headstrong force to be reckoned with before someone did the sensible thing and put her in charge. The heaviness that had lingered between them seemed to be lifting and Poe heard himself say, "You don't know that for sure yet."

Gazing out across the rows of parked cars, Leia bent her head in acknowledgement. "And on that note, you'd better give that analyst friend of yours – Finn – a call. We'll need to know the initial results of his enquiries as quickly as possible. He'll need to come down here – if there is any chance Ben is involved, neither you or I will officially be able to remain on the case. I'll have to talk to Ackbar, but I think there would be value in him maintaining us consultants."

Poe's phone was already halfway in his hand. For some time, he'd been thinking how he would like nothing more than to be doing some plain old detective work that was familiar and productive. Standing here, glowering at the world with a broken arm really wasn't his style.

However, it was clear Ben's shadow hung over them still and its presence would likely continue infecting his life for some time to come.

\---

Poe tried Finn twice whilst Leia waited, both times the call went straight to voicemail. "Maybe he's talking to someone. Don't worry – I'll keep trying and let you know when I've got an update."

Watching his boss walk away, a phrase from their earlier conversation came back to him. ' _We're part of an old guard; we cut our teeth on different stuff – drug cartels in South America mostly_.'

Poe went to call Finn again, but found himself scrolling past his friend's name of his list of past calls. Instead, his fingertips found their way to a completely different number and pressed before his mind could catch up and provide a thousand reasons why this wasn't a very good idea.

The phone had barely rung before it was picked up, " _Hello? Poe? Is that you?"_

"Hey, dad."

_"Are you okay? Sorry if I sounded worried when I answered. After all the things you've told me about, I panicked that maybe something had gone wrong."_

Poe smiled and gently rolled his eyes, forgetting for a moment his dad couldn't see him. "You don't need to apologise. Everything's fine."

_"Really? You don't sound fine to me. Something bothering you?"_

Damn parents and their unfailing insight. Poe was grateful for his close relationship with his father, but sometimes he missed the ability to keep his own secrets. "No, it's good. I just- I was just talking to the General- I mean, Assistant Director Organa."

_"Oh, right. She still telling you it'd be best if you came off the case? I know it's not what you want, but the garden is getting pretty out of hand with all this sunshine we've had and I could always use an extra pair of hands."_

"I wondered if you were in the garden. The reception's not great."

_"You should have said something earlier. Want me to go back inside?"_

"No, it's alright. Are you near the tree?"

Poe's voice softened unconsciously as he asked the question, imaging for a moment that he was back in the garden of his childhood home. When Poe went back as an adult, he could see the garden was large. But when you're five years old and the world was still full of magic, it had stretched out like an entire jungle extending from their backdoor step. It had been a haven for a little boy who loved to be outside with plenty of muddy puddles, hiding places, and fascinating bugs to be investigated using a plastic, fingerprint-smudged magnifying glass.

These were brilliant, but Poe's favourite thing about the garden was a huge oak tree that towered at the end of the garden and marked the edge of their land. It's trunk was so thick, Poe, his mother, and father would all stand with their arms outstretched around it and still couldn't touch fingertips.

It reached up so high, Poe as a little boy couldn't see the top unless he really squinted. It was obviously perfect for many things, like climbing and attaching a swing to its branches. The best thing though was when Poe would sit with his mother underneath the tree on dreamy summer evenings and she would tell him stories about all the wonderful things this ancient, magical tree might have seen.

_"Are you still there, Poe?"_

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, dad. Did you say you were near the tree?"

_"I'm pretty close. I started a new vegetable bed nearby and told your mother it's her job to watch over it."_

"I miss the tree."  _I miss her_ , is what Poe meant to say, but couldn't find a way to make the words come out.

 _"I know, son_. _Listen, I'm always happy to have a chitchat with you, but did you want to ask me something?"_

"Yeah, yes. The General, she told me that she's related to Luke Skywalker."

_"She did, huh? Took her longer than I thought to get round to it."_

"Leia also said they worked on the drug cartels in South America and- I guess I just wondered-"

 _"Your mother and I knew them all, Poe,"_ his father's voice was so gentle. " _Leia was our boss for a couple of years. It's how we met. We were all based in Mexico. It was pretty intense and, you know, you find a friend you can rely on, one thing leads to another, and next thing I know I'm asking your mother to marry me."_

Poe pressed the phone harder to his ear, trying to tell himself his sniffing was the sudden onset of hay fever. "Did you know them well?"

_"Well, you know what it's like with colleagues, Poe. I think we might have been to Leia's house once – that was when she was still with Han Solo, her husband, and all three of them were the toast of the Bureau. If I remember right, they all came to your christening. But when you don't work together anymore, you kind of drift apart and after your mother- I'll be honest, Poe. After your mother, I think it would have hurt more having them all around. They'd have been reminders of better days."_

"Why didn't you tell me?"

_"Leia gave me a call after she offered you a job. She asked me not to tell you unless you specifically asked."_

"Why?"

_"Would it have made you happier knowing?"_

"Probably not. I guess it was easier, not knowing about any of this…history." A thought occurred to him, "What about their son?"

_"She told you about that too?"_

"I think we've been through it all, dad. Did I ever meet him? When I was a kid, I mean."

Poe could almost picture his father rubbing his chin, still kneeling in the rich grass next to his raised bed of root vegetables. " _Well, I can't be sure, Poe. I mean, you're a bit older than him, but only by a few years, right? You might have crossed paths with each other at big work events – Christmas and summer parties, but you didn't have playdates with him, if that's what you're getting at? We were acquaintances, not close friends of the Skywalkers."_

Something in Poe eased with his father's words. A nameless fear that he might have spent years consorting with a future enemy, having to acknowledge memories of when they were young and innocent, would have been hard to bear. "Thanks, dad. I appreciate it's probably not easy for you to talk about. I'd better be going, I promised Leia I was going to make some calls for her."

_"I don't know why I'll waste my breath saying this, but an old man's got to have a few follies. I know you'll never take time off mid-case, but I always like having you to stay, Poe. This old house could use a bit of life."_

"Yeah, I'll think about it when we've cracked this thing."

_"And there's plenty of room if you ever wanted to have any friends to stay."_

"I know, dad."

He heard his father sigh. " _This job, Poe- I know it's exciting while you're young, but you've got to understand- it'll take from you and take from you. It'll take from you all the while you let it and, one day, you'll look around and realise you have nothing left to give. And do you think anyone will thank you for that, at the end?”_

"I'll see you soon, dad. I promise."

Poe hung up. His father's words ran around in his head whilst his mind filled with memories of their garden, of the special tree, the lulling susurration of its leaves. A pang of longing for home struck him with a pain worse than anything Ben Solo had ever inflicted. Although his father's warning lingered, Poe knew today was not the time to walk away.

\---

 _'In the middle of the night, when I dream of getting you,_  
_Grab my hair, going crazy thinking what I'd do to you._  
_I'd rip off all your clothes and I'm breaking down the door;_  
_I'd make you beg for more as I pin you to the floor.'_

\---

There were nights Poe dreamed about the incident in Ben's bedroom at Quantico. The dreams were filled with a suffocating sensation of panic, of a strange helplessness. Poe would always describe them as nightmares, every single time he woke up in a cold sheen of sweat and struggling for breath. Occasionally the dreams would happen more than one night in a row and he would go to bed, dreading what his subconscious would dredge up this time.

The man who once called himself Ben Solo had similar experiences. He would often drift, imagining he could feel the rough press of Poe's clothes again beneath his hands. He would swear blind he could hear the soft gasps of Poe's breath in his ear. See the way Poe's eyes darted around the room, frantically calculating a route of escape.

But for Ben, this usually just marked the beginning.

For Ben, the dreams offered endless 'what if' alterations to the past. He lingered mostly on the thought: what if he hadn't lost his nerve? What if he'd not allowed Poe to talk him down, but instead carried on claiming what he desired.

In his dreams, he did so many things to Poe. Long open-mouthed kisses pressed against a vulnerable neck. Shirts unbuttoned or sometimes just simply ripped, leaving vast expanses of fragile skin, begging for the mark of teeth. He felt his mouth pressed against swollen lips, fingertips burning from the heat of Poe's body as he reached down to the waistband of his trousers.

What came next could take many forms. Sometimes Ben saw himself sinking slowly to his knees, keeping pointed eye contact with Dameron even as he began to mouth his dick through his underwear. (He always saw Poe is simple cotton briefs, clean and neat.) Sometimes it was rougher. Unable to wait or display any kind of finesses, Ben would simply grind their hips together. Both of them would get caught in a frantic rhythm, chasing their release.

The best dreams though. God damn. Those were the dreams where Ben's subconscious suggested what it would be like if they moved away from the wall. If, for example, Ben carefully manipulated an unresisting Poe over to his bed and pressed him face down into the scratchy, rough covers. Occasionally, Poe continued to struggle and Ben would fight him the whole way – love making given over for a time to violence.

It pleased Ben like nothing else to see those phantom bruises, to smell that ghostly blood. He saw Poe's hands forming claws, riddling his body with scratches and stinging welts. It was wonderful. It made him feel alive and set his pulse racing like nothing else. Poe was an untameable wildcat, but eventually he would manage to assert his dominance. The dreams had only ever reached a state of conclusion a few times, but needless to say Poe almost always ended up in a bedraggled, satiated heap of some kind, staring up at Ben through wide, empty eyes. He told himself it was adoration, the truth was probably closer to shock.

Ben adored those scenarios on the bed – his mind constantly refreshing the scene. Sometimes he would lower himself down to the floor between Poe's spread knees, take the man's cock into his mouth and not stop until he had his teacher screaming. Other times, Poe would be on his front. The golden skin of his back and ass available for slow, leisurely exploration by Ben's fingertips. He would then carefully open Poe up, patiently stretching him until he knew Dameron's knees must have turned to mush. He couldn't have run if he'd tried.

The best nights though. Oh the best nights. Those were the ones where Ben's subconscious dared to imagine what it might feel like to take Dameron. To press into him – either hard and fast or slow and caring. He'd dreamed both scenarios and woken with the most painful erection imaginable.

That was the only trouble with these wonderful dreams. He never, ever managed to find his way to a climax whilst the illusion lingered. He needed more material. Ben wanted Poe Dameron's body so desperately it had become an obsession. All these years of dreaming. Then he'd seen him. Just a flash during a press conference about one of his most recent kills.

Dameron wasn't involved in providing the briefing, he'd just passed on the edge of a shot heading into the police station. Ben – or Kylo as he was now – felt his breath catch in his throat. Poe hadn't changed. Not really. He looked perhaps a little graver, a little more weighed down by the troubles of the world. But otherwise? His hair was still dark, his skin still tanned, and his body still trim and inexplicably desirable. He was even wearing that same FBI jacket he favoured when not dressed up more formally.

Kylo could hunt drunks, addicts, men unloved and wasted who had drifted out onto the streets and never returned to a safe and warm home. He could hunt them endlessly and even then the Feds wouldn't know the half of it. No one cared if those people disappeared. No one really looked hard enough to find them if Kylo elected to remove the body. They were isolated loners, abandoned by the State who turned a blind eye over their welfare.

But Poe.

That was something different. An FBI Special Agent – a golden boy. To take him. Right under the noses of those idiots investigating Kylo. It was too much. He finally had his chance, not just to finish the dream, but to make it reality.

With a gasp, Kylo jolted awake. The dream hadn't progressed far tonight, but his cock was still throbbing inside his loose cotton pyjama pants. Automatically, Kylo reached from the muscular figure beside him. Hux had slipped into his hotel room some hours earlier, a slick grin playing around his mouth. He was a cat who'd mostly definitely had his fill of cream. His smug attitude crept under Kylo's skin very quickly and things had soon descended into a round of rough sex.

Hux didn't even open his eyes as he batted Ren's hand away. "Don't even think about it."

He must have heard Kylo's pout because he continued softly, "You've been calling the name of that fucking fed for a good ten minutes. I'm not going to be some substitute for your wet dream. Go and sort yourself out."

Frowning petulantly, Kylo wanted to argue. But deep down, he knew Hux was justified in telling him to fuck off. He couldn't recall Hux ever caring about one of his past lovers enough to call their name, but if he did, Kylo imagined he would be pissed as well.

He pulled himself reluctantly out of the warm nest of covers and body heat. Tripping his way over to the bathroom, Kylo consoled himself with the thought that they would get Poe back eventually. Then they could have him pressed between them for hours and Hux would understand. Kylo sorted his problem with almost mechanical efficiency, utilising delicious fantasies of how he could finally have both his favourite things in the same place, admire his cake and gorge on it too.

They just needed some time. Time to lay low and to plan how to lure Dameron back out.

And there would be no mistakes this time.

Laying his head back on the soothing, cool cotton of the pillow, Kylo murmured again, "No mistakes. None."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _When the Truth Hunts You Down_ , Sam Tinnesz  
>  _Fire Up the Night_ , New Medicine


	9. Chapter Nine: A Cold and Lonely Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your comments and kudos. I keep saying it - but I really value any/all feedback. I've been working on this for so long, it's great to understand how it comes across when read for the first time!
> 
> In this chapter, I mostly give Angst. With a capital 'A'.

**Chapter Nine**

**A Cold and Lonely Thing**

_'You know if he could protect you, he would do anything_  
_Shelter you or raise a sail to escape the wind._  
_Eternity is a cold and lonely thing,_  
_So close your eyes and you will remember everything.'_

\---

Locating Finn turned out to be a small challenge. His mobile was clearly passing in and out of signal and no one had any idea if he had access to a radio. All in all, Poe was starting to feel damned guilty about leaving him to fend for himself alone. It had been important to get over to the Starkiller crime scene, but it was more important to make sure your colleagues were okay first.

He sat in a quiet office, pretending to update some paperwork. Realistically Poe was just brooding. Since he'd left hospital, there hadn't been much time for him to sit and think things through. The case was taking a stranger and more unexpected turn by the minute and Poe hated where it was leaving him emotionally.

Years of repressing terrible memories had all now gone to waste. A few conversations with people like Ackbar, a shocking set of revelations from someone he trusted almost like a parent, and Poe might as well have been the young man so many years ago who crouched shaking in the dust surrounded by corpses.

He was saved from his increasingly blackening mood by clattering in the corridor and the sound of voices. Without even bothering to knock, Finn all but tumbled over his own feet into Poe's makeshift office. Seeing his newest friend genuinely brought a smile to Poe's face. Finn looked pleased with himself and desperate to be asked what fantastic discoveries he'd made.

Poe got as far as, "Hey, buddy! How's it going?"

"It's good! Great. I mean. So. I took the photograph after you left- Well, no. Actually. We took it. Rey and I- Rey had a car, you see."

Finn continued in a rush of words, but Poe found his eyes drawn to the doorway behind. There, lingering on the periphery, was a slim, dark haired girl with pale skin. She was wearing a familiar blue uniform and had her hands tucked neatly behind her back. It was clear she felt uncomfortable, uncertain of welcome or acceptance amongst strangers.

Poe took one more look at Finn's buoyant face, noted the slight glitter in his eyes that hadn't been there this morning and knew. He wasn't sure if Rey had figured it out yet, or if she even suspected. He wasn't, actually, altogether sure if Finn understood why he was so damned happy. The agent couldn't have explained this scientifically; it was all about instinct. Something about Finn and Rey fit together, just like the damned cliché of two beings that were originally made whole.

He wondered how soon was too soon to start talking loudly about the merits of long distance relationships.

He also wondered how long it would take for the sharp pang in his stomach to fade. Poe didn't kid himself that Finn had ever seen him as anything more than a friend, but damn it. It wasn't like Poe had been trying to figure out if there was any extra potential there and how to go about exploring it. Finn was a ball of energy and positivity that infected those around him. It was selfish, but Poe had started to get used to having that so close, so near.

However, the truth was that Poe's disappointments were irrelevant. The idea of begrudging Finn any kind of happiness was incomprehensible. Poe already knew he would be doing what he could to play matchmaker. He just wished there was some kind of law where selfless behaviour would help to soothe the hurt of your own disappointment.

All in all, Poe felt, as he allowed himself to be manoeuvred by Finn and Rey into a bigger space where they could talk updates, this was turning into a really fucked up few weeks. It made Poe wish even more he could ignore the whispers in his head that things were not going to improve any time soon.

\---

Uncertainty wasn't an emotion Poe commonly entertained for long periods. Once he'd resolved on a certain course of action, weighed up all the relevant pros and cons, he tended not to revisit unless absolutely necessary. Now he stood close to an innocuous wooden door, listening carefully to the growing buzz from the gathering press mob outside.

A gnawing sensation lingered in his stomach, haunting him when he couldn't keep busy enough. Sure, this had seemed like a great idea when they all sat round a table last week, trying to devise a strategy on how to tackle the two serial killer cases. Finn and Rey had made a valiant effort at showing Ren's photo around, but no one had recognised it (or been willing to admit recognising it). Given the spread of crimes over years and states, it had been judged necessary to appeal to a wider ranger of witnesses and the best way to do that was the tried and tested press conference.

Now that it came to launching the first phase, Poe worried they were about to set events in motion that they couldn't control. Whoever these people were, Kylo Ren (or Ben Solo or whatever) and his sadistic associate, they clearly didn't live by the rules the governed normal life. They were not going to take kindly to exposure and Poe feared what form their retribution might take.

He felt like they were about to condemn strangers, but still couldn't see how they would generate precious leads without appealing to the public. Most anonymous tip offs tended to be rubbish. There were, however, usually the little nuggets that could finish the jigsaw puzzle and make any media frenzy seem like a small price to pay.

Ackbar wasn't exactly about to go and bandy just any potential suspect name around either. Ben Solo's case was notorious for its lack of resolution, for the way he managed to evade the all-powerful machine of American law enforcement. Just a whisper of him attached to their case was going to draw down hysterical speculation and exponentially increase the pressure they would be under to solve the murders – whether Ben turned out to be their main suspect or not. The odds were high and everybody was starting buckle a little already – the intense exposure hadn't even started yet.

Poe swallowed, throat dry. He was sorry now for dragging Finn into all of this. He didn't want either Finn or Rey – both so new in their careers – tainted by this failure when they were slogging their guts out to help. He was surreptitiously attempting to wipe his sweaty palms on the sides of his trousers when the call went around. Five minutes, guys and gals. If you could get ready to take your places.

The whole briefing had been carefully choreographed in advance. Around him, men and women with severe expressions and sombre suits of black and navy gathered in a loose line. In a few moments, they would file in one by one to take their places. Leia stood a few metres away, engaged in one last conversation with Ackbar. They were both frowning, but they didn't look perturbed about their coming performance. In a way, this helped Poe. If they could face this down and remain outwardly calm, so could he.

Leia nodded at him once as they began to move in. As soon as the door into the room opened, the press staff ceased chatting. But the cameras. God. The flashes of cameras didn't stop for a second. Every tiny move, every single twitch was recorded for posterity as their group flowed in. Tomorrow – would their names and backgrounds all be the subject of dissection in lengthy expositions about the new lead? Poe shuddered. He didn't know if he was ready for this, ready to face the events of that afternoon again.

Ackbar took his seat on a small dais prepared with a plain desk and three seats. He was flanked by two other senior FBI officers Poe didn't know. Leia stood carefully, calmly to the right-hand side, whilst he took up a position on the left. One small mercy in this was that their role in this charade was silent. In an ideal world, neither Poe nor Leia would have publicly associated themselves with the case, but it was tentatively suggested they could still be useful.

As bait. There was really no other word for it. If Kylo Ren was one of their killers, if he had selected Poe and lost his prey – could he resist the temptation of seeing his quarry there, so easily accessible? Equally, could he stand to watch his mother partake in yet another press conference condemning him? Would it be enough to stir him to anger? To trick him into acting without preparation, to force him to make mistakes? Poe didn't know, but he suspected it was likely. Ben had always shown signs of being ruled by passion, whether lust or anger. Now they were deliberately appealing to both.

Ackbar held up a single hand and the angry buzz of the audience swiftly died away. They stared at him expectantly, "As you will no doubt be aware, the Federal Bureau of Investigation has been investigating a series of murders, which have occurred across multiple States over the past eighteen months."

No one stirred as the screen behind Ackbar changed, a PowerPoint slide appeared with the photograph (where they’d been able to find one) of every man (as far as they currently knew) Kylo Ren may have bludgeoned to death.

"We believe these murders are the work of one individual. The killings suggest the perpetrator is extremely intelligent and has taken considerable steps to hide the serial nature of their crimes. The victims are chosen from low socio-economic backgrounds. They often have no family, are unemployed, and essentially homeless. I do not wish to sound callous, but these men were individuals unlikely to be missed immediately by family members, friends, or co-workers."

Ackbar paused, calmly taking a sip of water before continuing to read from his statement, "Often this has also meant a delay in identifying these men were the victims of murder. Furthermore, the killer has chosen a low sophistication methodology. The cause of death for the majority of these individuals was trauma caused by multiple blows to the head and body. The killer often selects a weapon of chance from the scene and there have been several occasions where the scenes have been set up to look like robberies or quarrels gone awry. This has also delayed making connections between the deaths."

"We have arranged this press briefing today for a number of reasons. However, there are two key messages I would like to stress. Firstly, it is possible there are further victims who have yet to be identified. If you are aware of any missing persons who may fit this profile, we would ask you to call in to the hotline set up for this investigation. Secondly, we are currently pursuing a line of enquiry regarding a person of interest and need to appeal for any information members of the general public may be able to provide.

"The individual we are looking for is highly intelligent and is statistically more likely to be male. He appears to plan his crimes and has so far not left any physical evidence behind. He will prefer to work alone, appearing unfriendly and cold to those who may engage with him. He would also need some element of physical power to carry out killings of this nature. Having now spoken to a number of witnesses, we are particularly keen to hear of any sightings of an individual bearing this physical resemblance-"

A click and the slide changed. Poe forgot how to breathe. There was Ben Solo's photograph. The picture taken for his badge when he first arrived for his training. Like many official photographs, it did him no favours. The light was poor, emphasising the sallow, pale skin and dark shadows under his eyes. His lips formed a frown, as he scowled at the camera.

Whispers broke out among the listening crowd that grew louder into a frantic hum, until somebody with a slightly shaky voice called out, "Can you confirm this is a photograph of Ben Solo – the trainee FBI Agent who went rogue part way through his training and murdered the rest of his class before disappearing? Can you also confirm you are treating Ben Solo as a suspect in this current investigation?"

No one else spoke and Poe felt the waiting tension bleed into him; he didn't know whether their management had agreed they'd go as far as naming Ben as a suspect. It took everything he had not to be overwhelmed by memories of what it was like back then. To see Ben's face on the front page of every paper. To see images of blood in the grass. Lifeless hands peeking out from under the makeshift covers attempting to preserve the final dignity of a corpse – the empty husk of a promising student- a young person whose progress Poe and nurtured and taken pride in.

Ackbar didn't flinch. "I can confirm this is a photograph of Ben Solo and that we are actively treating him as a suspect in this case. I would like to stress that Solo was an extremely dangerous individual and should not be approached if sighted. We would ask that if anybody recognises this photograph and believes they have seen this man to also phone our hotline."

The questions from the press flew thick and fast. Poe's head spun, but Ackbar and the others kept a cool façade. The answers were mostly 'No comment'. Poe's dark eyes moved slowly over the press pack, absorbing their hungry and outraged expressions. The words faded into an angry murmur, like that of a trapped wasp bashing angrily against a window. Instead he concentrated on finding each and every camera. For a second or two, he fixed his gaze directly at the lens.

'Come on, Solo,' he wanted it to say. 'I'm here. Your mother is here. We know it's you and we're hunting you down.'

That was the message Poe hoped to convey. But instead, he found himself wondering whether Ben, who'd always had a gift for calling people out on their bullshit, would see something different. Whether he would strip back the layers of confidence and bravado to find instead the raw fear Poe felt since the moment he stirred in that rusting, abandoned church.

Poe knew Ben. This may be a hunt, but who was predator and prey was up for debate. What wasn't up for debate was that one of them was not going to walk away from their third confrontation. Poe was going to do everything in his power to ensure Ben Solo faced justice and the only thing that would stop him would be if he died in the attempt.

\---

 _'Oh, the things that you do in the name of what you love;_  
_You are doomed, but just enough;_  
_You are doomed, but just enough.'_

\---

Following the end of the press conference, Leia caught Poe's eye again as they filed out of the room. Expression neutral, he gave a short nod to indicate everything was okay. After that, she joined Ackbar and a few of the others in fancy suits as they headed off somewhere more private. No doubt an FBI senior was going to call in to check progress or whatever.

Suddenly feeling stifled, almost suffocated, Poe knew he had to get outside. It didn't matter that the hot, humid air wouldn't be easier to breathe. He just needed to see the open sky, to hear the rustle of the leaves. His longing for home struck him again, a longing for a time when everything felt much simpler and it was just him and his dad against the world.

It was this chain of thought that led him to a rickety fire escape attached to the side of the building. He didn't mean to overhear their conversation, but once he realised who was talking, he couldn't bring himself to move. Instead Poe closed the heavy fire exit door slowly and allowed himself to sink down the rough, brick wall. Warm, golden sunlight bathed his skin and he drifted to the sound of Finn and Rey's voices.

\---

"I'm finding it really hard to guess where you're from. Your accent – usually I can get a clue, but yours… It seems… mixed."

Finn chuckled quietly at Rey's hesitant description. "Maybe you don't have to guess. You could just ask."

Poe could almost see the flush appear on Rey's face. The slightly angry, uncomfortable way she would clench her jaw at being caught out trying to read someone. "Oh- well. I wasn't sure you'd want to talk about it."

"The reason you can't work my accent out is because I grew up all over. Different cities, different states and I've probably picked up all sorts of bad habits. If it gives you a head start though, I spent most of my childhood in Baltimore."

"What was that like?"

"Not easy." How many times had Poe imagined having this sort of conversation with Finn? Building their friendship to a point where Finn felt safe enough to share like this. If Poe hadn't been sure before about Rey and the strength of Finn's feelings for her, this would have convinced him like a tonne of lead bricks.

He should have walked away, gone back inside, and left them to it. Finn's voice, though, his sudden outpouring caught hold of Poe by the scruff of the neck and wouldn't let him go. Instead, Poe pressed back into the wall, as though the scrape of the rough stone might scourge him from the sin he was committing. He sank deeper until he was essentially sitting on the floor, closed his eyes tight, and listened.

"I don't remember my mom or my dad much. I think they tried to make a go of it, after I was born. But my dad was into some bad shit, robberies, beatings, drugs. He got my momma hooked and then hightailed it out before I hit two. I don't know if my mom couldn't get clean, or just didn't want to, but the authorities got involved and they took me away. Think they thought I'd go into care, but my grandma suddenly appeared on the scene."

Finn's voice was so gentle, so loving. It made Poe ache with the hope that one day, someone would talk about him with that kind of fondness. "She saved me. I'm sure of it. Without her, I don't know where I'd be now. She took me into her home and she loved me with all her might, encouraged me at school and believed in my dreams. She gave me hope to stay on the straight and narrow. It wasn't so bad at first, when I was younger. But by the time I hit High School, my friends- you could tell some of them started hanging out with bad crowds."

"Gangs?" Rey was biting her lip; Poe was sure of it, frowning with an intense expression of concentration whilst she absorbed Finn's story without judgement.

"Yeah. It was pretty bad. When we got to that age, that's when the guns really started to take hold. I went to a couple of funerals, coulda gone to more. Started to seem futile though, the endless cycle of violence repaid with violence. My grandma made me promise to stay out of trouble, but she didn't need to do that. I knew what that kind of lifestyle had done for my parents and I swore I wouldn't suck me in."

"It's never that easy though, is it?"

Finn paused after Rey's question, possibly aware of how bitter his tone had become. "No. It's not that easy. I was seventeen. Classes were going well – I was thinking about colleges, dreaming of how close I was to making a move. Then one of my closest friends got himself mixed up with a real group of thugs. They called themselves the Storm Trooperz. Stupid name. He'd been going through whatever fucked up initiation rites they had and finally, someone told him the group had been disrespected and he needed to teach that bastard a lesson. They gave him a gun. Told him either the other gang member ended up dead or he did."

"Bloody hell," muttered Rey.

"He came to me. Said we were best friends. That he needed my help. That I owed him. Tried everything. He'd even told the Storm Trooperz he'd be coming to me – that I was tight and would have his back. I knew at that point I couldn't talk my way out of this one. He showed me the gun, pulled out from the waistband of his jeans. He still had spots on his face and only had his braces off last year. He was a boy, not a man. I looked at the gun and I knew I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't kill for them, not then, not ever."

Finn's voice was tight, fighting hard to choke out any lingering emotion. "I walked away. Nines. Idiot. I still don't know what happened to him. Maybe prison? Maybe dead? But whatever happened, I abandoned him. I walked home one night a couple of weeks later, took my grandma by the hand, and told her we had to leave. She didn't ask questions, didn't argue, but we just packed what we could and walked away. She left everything for me – her friends, her family, her whole life.

"Things were difficult for a while – I dropped out of school and worked to get things together, then I set about finishing my GED and applying for colleges. Haven't looked back since."

Finn stopped speaking and Rey made no move to fill the silence. Even without seeing them, Poe knew it wasn't the awkward kind of quiet, not the kind where your mind races with endless, increasingly weak suggestions to reopen conversation. He didn't dare risk standing up, peeking around the corner of the building. They believed they were speaking privately and Poe wouldn't dispel that illusion for anything in the world.

Finn needed peace, acceptance and he seemed to be finding that with a girl he stumbled across in a rundown town in the backend of nowhere. Maybe Fate really did have an odd sense of humour. Relaxing his head against the building, Poe closed his eyes and enjoyed the soft kiss of a breeze ruffling his hair. It was suddenly wonderful out here.

He basked in the warmth, imagining how Finn and Rey were right now. Were they both seated? Both standing? He pictured them, sitting on the steps leading down to a small, weed-filled yard. He saw knees bent up, elbows resting on thighs, serious expressions as they contemplated battles won and fights yet to begin. The real thought that made Poe smile, though, was the idea that this conversation would be the start of trust between them. He imagined Finn and Rey with some fragile element of contact – a tentative pat on the shoulder, a brush of fingers against the wrist.

Today, for the three of them, there would be some respite, this tiny moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Hollow Wind_ , Graveyard Train  
>  _Church_ , Fall Out Boy


	10. Chapter Ten: Red as Rust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for comments/kudos from last week - I appreciate that was a slightly slower chapter. =)
> 
> In this chapter, the pace starts to pick up... and then isn't likely to slow down. ;)

**Chapter Ten**

**Red as Rust**

\---

 _'You take the shape of_  
_Everything I am drawn to,_  
_But your eyes_  
_Are dead and red,_  
_Red as rust.'_

\---

 

"What did it feel like?"

They were lying in a tangle, recovering from an energetic session in bed. There were various niggles just starting to bother Kylo – he needed the bathroom, quite fancied brushing his teeth and his hair. Little vain whimsies that would make him feel more put together, able to enjoy the afterglow whilst also feeling in control and desirable.

His head lay on Hux's chest – his dark hair like the most shocking bruise against pale skin. Initially, Hux didn't react. His breathing was rhythmic and steady, to the point where Kylo wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Then one eye opened lazily, "You're going to need to be more specific."

"You've done it, haven't you? I know you have."

A flash of irritation passed over Hux's features before he smoothed them again. Like a porcelain doll, pale and elegant. "What're you talking about?"

"I'm sure. It must have been early. Tell me-" starting to sit up, Kylo felt himself becoming agitated. The thought consumed him, was endlessly clawing at his insides like the eagle who tore out the liver of Prometheus day after day. "I know you did. Tell me. How did it feel to kill your father?"

Hux closed his eyes briefly. Lashes the colour of burnt ginger rested on the soft skin of his cheeks. He looked so peaceful and jealousy flared with surprising potency inside Kylo. Would he have such serenity if he tore to shreds yet another piece of his past? He wanted it. He wanted to smile the way Hux's lips were curling now.

"He was my first real masterpiece. They never found him, you know. I filed the missing person's report. Told them he'd gone hiking in the woods and not come home. He was ex-military and used to go out on his own all the time, honing his survival skills. Sometimes he forced me to go with him, but I didn't need to learn any of the lessons he could teach me. I understood far more about survival and instinct than he could ever imagine."

Closing his eyes, Kylo hung onto every word. He pictured his own father, thought about Han Solo in more detail than he had for years. Thought about their last meeting, the way his father had clapped him on the shoulder with such pride when he left to start his FBI training. What an idiot. Both his parents were. So easy to convince that he had come around, that he wanted to be just like them. Easier for them to swallow a total change of character than accept Kylo was different and always would be.

Now they were parading themselves on television, taunting and goading him. Someone even thought to dangle Dameron in front of the screen as well. Kylo's guts roiled with anger. Poe's time was coming. He'd have his screams and his begging before the end. It was time he taught them a serious lesson, made them remember that hunting Kylo Ren hadn't been easy for years and it certainly wasn't going to be easy now. He'd had years to perfect moving through the shadows, found Hux to watch his back and help sharpen his abilities.

They'd wish they had never started this fight, before the end.

"I think he might still be there. I don't know if they ever found the body. I laid him out, in a shack in the woods. I went back, maybe twice, to look. I was paranoid, didn't know whether I was under any kind of suspicion. It was the first time I realised I could run rings around cops, around anyone who pretended to represent some sort of authority. You just have to plan, to be smarter. Killing him was a liberation and I wish I could do it a thousand times over."

Sometimes Kylo thought Hux's unique perspective on life, or perhaps death, was wasted in this mundane, puny little world. He was the kind of man who could preside over the destruction of planets, of whole worlds, and not flinch as millions upon millions of people suffered. He craved a kind of order so regimented, so strict it was both beautiful and cruel.

Kylo Ren did not enjoy clichés, but he knew without a doubt that where he destroyed as fire – raging, hot, uncontrollable – Hux was ice. He moved slowly, insidiously, waiting and planning for years, and before you realised what had happened – entire landscapes were riven to pieces, shredded and moulded into the perfection Hux craved.

He was utterly wonderful.

And Kylo knew without a doubt, that he was going to kill his father next and there wouldn't be a damned thing anyone could do to stop him.

\---

"Aside from yourself and Dameron, do you think there's anyone else Kylo Ren might target? Assuming the killer that we're looking for is him, of course."

Leia didn't say anything. She didn't know how to explain the clench in her gut that told her without a doubt these were the actions of her son. From the moment Poe returned and described what had happened to him, the seeds of suspicion were sown. What she couldn't understand was why Ben would allow himself to slip up now, why he would risk his relative freedom so recklessly.

Poe sat in another room, she could see him through the glass panel in the door. A huge grin lit up his features and he was gesturing as best he could with one arm in a cast. He'd taken a real shine to one of their new analysts and appeared to be considering the maintenance of Finn's welfare something of a personal duty. Leia didn't mind. She hadn't seen Poe smile like that for a good few weeks. The cast on his arm was smaller now, meaning he could be more mobile.

Poe's dark eyes contained a spark of joy, like he couldn't be more grateful for just existing and having the simple opportunity to experience the world at its highs and lows. Perhaps she could understand how someone might lose their heart, and their mind, to capture that. Dameron had a loving nature and easy freedom around others that Ben would never know.

With difficulty, she brought her mind back to Ackbar's questions. "Clearly, if Ren went after Poe, whether it was an act of opportunity or premeditated, he may start looking for other more personal targets. If not Poe or myself… the next most obvious would be his father."

She hadn't said his name for so long, barely allowed herself to think about him. And she still couldn't say it aloud now. Thankfully Leia didn't need to. Their old partnership was legendary. Her husband – still _hers_ , they'd never gotten around to that divorce after all. The man who made her feel so safe and so irate at the same time. She missed the sound of his voice, the faintly arrogant turn of his lip, the clean scent of his aftershave.

What happened with Ben, it tore them apart in the end. Their relationship, stormy as it was at the best of times, couldn't survive the glare of public scrutiny, the screening of their professional lives, the unbearable intermingling of judgement and sympathy among friends and acquaintances.

He said he needed a fresh start, after the internal inquiry was concluded. Couldn't bear to be around so many people who knew them as they were, before the tragedy. Leia knew she could survive, but these had been her friends and colleagues long before they were his. Their acceptance of him, and the rocky line he walked between legal and not strictly legal, had never completely matured. The Bureau would support her, but it wouldn't offer him the same space for recovery.

"You're saying we needed to find Han Solo?"

Leia pursed her lips at the sound of his name, not thrilled to have her past unravelling with such lack of control into the future. "It seems a logical step."

Her tone remained grudging and Leia's mind, regardless of whatever lingering fondness remained against her better judgement, rebelled at the thought of dragging that old heap of bones and bravado out of whatever Godforsaken hole he'd lugged himself into. Whatever his excuses about feeling alienated and unsupported, the reality was that Han had left her high and dry. Left her to face their workmates, family members, the relatives of the victims. He left her alone at the time she most needed his love and support.

Ben ought to watch out. Maybe he was on to something. She might kill Solo if they got to him first. However, on consideration, Leia decided this was a task she could focus on without compromising the actual murder investigations. Furthermore, she was quite finished with strangers pawing into her private life. Those wounds, despite the passage of the years, were far too raw. If people were going to start dredging the kind of scum that Han liked to run with, she'd have it be her people.

With a final glower at nothing in particular and forcing her fingers to relax from the claw like shape they'd assumed since this conversation began, she swept passed Ackbar with her head held high and a muttered, "Leave this with me." The door jammed as it made to swing closed, rough wood stuck on an uneven floor. Ackbar ran a hand through his thick golden-brown hair as he heard Organa start to bark orders, "Dameron. I have a job for you. You too, Finn. And where's that rookie cop you've been getting to help? We could use some of her local knowledge."

\---

 _'Run, love._  
_I'm the truth that you're afraid of._  
_I'm a fever that you made up,_  
_Just a martyr on a bridge that's burning down.'_

\---

"Your turn."

Rey and Finn had been driving fruitlessly around various, equally dilapidated small towns for about three hours. Outside it was hot and muggy; sometimes Finn felt like he was drowning for all the moisture you could breathe in. The car had a rickety air conditioning system that was doing its best. Finn would have liked the windows open, but every time he went to ask he caught a glimpse of Rey.

It was like she was totally unaffected by the world around her, but in a really good way. Where Finn saw loads of other cops hauling round, sweat patches developing under their arms and groaning, Rey could have been in the arctic. The skin on her face retained its clear, fresh quality. It was as though she absorbed the heat and used it to fuel some sort of inner cooling mechanism.

Finn was so gone. He was in over his head to the point that if he burrowed any further, he'd find China or whatever was on the opposite side of the world.

And Rey? She couldn't have been more oblivious.

Or maybe she wasn't oblivious? Maybe she knew exactly what was going on? Was she playing him? Did she have a boyfriend after all? Caught up in his own furious round of suspicious questions, Finn forgot that he'd actually attempted to start a semi-serious conversation.

"My turn, what?"

"Oh. Well- I told you about my grandma and Nines and stuff. What about you?"

Finn tried to keep his tone light and ignore a little rush of guilt. _You've not told her everything though, have you?_ _And, worse than just lying, your using those little fibs to manipulate her._ The young man closed his eyes for a second, trying to wrestle his conscience back into its tightly chained box.

That voice was right. What he was doing was despicable, giving Rey the impression he'd confided and then expecting honesty in return. But there was something about Rey he didn't have words for. How could he tell her the truth? She'd be repulsed. Just like Poe would be or any of the people he'd been working with over the last few months. They'd welcomed him gradually into their tight-knit circle, given him a sensation of family he'd been craving since he'd lost his grandma and Finn just couldn't bear to lose that. Not yet.

Rey still hadn't replied, which suited Finn whilst he wrestled with his nagging demons. She pressed her lips together, clearly thinking over the question. For all her bright-eyed wonder at witnessing a bustling FBI investigation close up and Finn's attempts at openness, Rey had not been terribly forthcoming about her personal life.

Finn had overheard the odd angry conversation with her immediate supervisor, noted infrequent comments Rey made about how some of her 'friends' were accusing her of lording it over them by getting out of her regular beat shifts to help the Bureau, but that had been the extent of it so far.

Whatever Rey's colleagues thought, Finn could see she was brilliantly clever, reasonably patient, but – most importantly – understanding of the world around her. She didn't judge anyone and that neutrality seemed to have endeared her to many people who otherwise wouldn't have welcomed police interference in their private affairs, which made her an invaluable asset for their local enquiries. Finn was mostly in awe of this ease Rey had around others. When it suited her. Sometimes she could be damned awkward.

Like right now.

He'd just begun to fret that he might have overstepped a line when Rey started speaking, "There isn't much to tell." She half shrugged, hands tight on the steering wheel the only sign of her discomfort. "I was left in this town by my family when I was really young. Moved from foster home to foster home. Finally ended up in a relatively stable one run by this old guy called Plutt. He didn't much care about kids, but he was an expert at getting as much money out of the government for us as possible. Made us valuable assets."

Finn must have looked mildly horrified, because Rey immediately rushed to say, "Really. It was all about the money. He barely spoke to us. Anyway. I went through high school, blitzed through a local college whilst working whatever odd jobs would take me, and then applied to join the police. Here I am."

Finn stared out of the window at the flat, rolling farmland outside. "There's just one thing I don't get. You pretty much have a blank slate. You could live anywhere, be anyone. Why're you still here?” He didn't need to say the words for Rey to hear them. Why are you here in these back-alley towns with no economy and futures heading only one way?

"I can't leave. I'm waiting for my family to come back."

Finn blinked, blind-sided. He opened his mouth, sure he ought to say something, but he couldn't find the words. Instead he stole a quick glance at Rey, who was frowning viciously at the front windscreen of their borrowed car.

Rey was one of the most street-smart women he'd ever been privileged to meet. They'd toured various shady areas of some of the bigger towns round here and at no point had Rey taken anyone's shit. She was slim, but not small. Quiet, but not to be mistaken for shy or retiring. Finn had seen grown men reduced to quivering in their boots when Rey decided to tell them off for something. Literally.

He wondered, then, why it felt so uncharitable to question her. How could someone who had so systematically been stripped of any naivety about the world have faith the parents who abandoned her (or were perhaps forced to leave her) would ever come back? Finn didn't for a moment believe that Rey truly thought that. For all her courage facing down the everyday wrongs and the rough, dirty, pathetic world of petty crime, Rey apparently didn't have the last little bit of bravery she needed to move on with her life.

Finn meant to spout some sort of platitude, what he said instead was, "Did you know that Poe has a dog?"

He could feel Rey's dark eyes doing that intense, almost bug-eyed stare at him, as though trying to work out if he'd gone mad in the last few seconds. Too late to back out now. "Yeah. He's amazing. And crazy. He's called BB-8. Don't ask why. I think the BB stands for 'Best Buddy'... Actually, no. Don't quote me on that. I also don't know why he'd use 'eight' – like, has Poe had seven pets before that?"

"Finn…"

"No. Honestly. You have to meet this dog. He's ginger and white. He's like an actual person – he smiles and I'm pretty sure he gets sassy with Poe when he leaves him alone for longer than he promised."

Rey's continued silence spoke volumes.

"I offered to help Poe look after him, anyway. I said I'd walk BB-8 this evening. You should come with me."

And just like that, Finn did what he'd been fretting about since meeting Rey. It was wrong to think about protecting her. Rey was fiercer than he was and certainly a lot better with her fists. ('I live on my own. Seemed like taking a few self-defence lessons wasn't a bad idea.') But something about her confession made a strange part of Finn's chest ache. He didn't want to 'protect' her, but equally, he was desperate to show her that she didn't need to be alone.

If Rey was aware of Finn's existential crisis of feelings, she gave no outward sign. With an unreadable expression, she gave a light shrug of her shoulders. "Sure. Okay."

There was no time to enjoy his elation. Just as quickly, Rey started frowning again, "There's something odd about that car."

Finn followed her gaze to a beat up old red estate car. He couldn't have pinpointed anything out of the ordinary. "I've been watching it for the last ten minutes. Decided to follow it for a bit actually, as we're in an unmarked car. It's something about the way it's being driven, keeps shuddering from one side of the lane to the other. Might be a DUI. That or it's not sure where it's going. Do me a favour?"

It was phrased as a question, but Finn knew his place while they were out like this. Rey was the one with local knowledge and a brilliant grasp of her police powers. Finn did what he was told. "Get hold of dispatch and run the plates, be interesting to know if it's been caught up in trouble before."

Finn's grasp of this radio system was rudimentary at best. He got the whole 'push the button and talk' aspect just fine. It was the unique code used by different local forces that confused him. He'd tried really damned hard to listen to Rey when she updated people on their progress, but he still felt like the people on the other end were going to look at their receiver and wonder which moron/newbie they had the misfortune of talking to.

They got there in the end though, with Rey hissing instructions from the corner of her mouth when Finn started to become especially tongue-tied.

After a brief pause, the crackly voice came back with their answer, "Plates registered stolen about a week ago. Vehicle they were stolen from does not – repeat not – match the description you gave of the vehicle. You want me to get another unit to head your way?"

Rey nodded and Finn gave the verbal confirmation, "Uh. We're going to continue following the vehicle at a distance. Then if the second unit could let us know when they're close, we'll look to make a stop?" Rey nodded fiercely again, clearly frustrated at how uncertain Finn sounded.

"Copy. Keep an ear out and I'll tell you when we've got someone headed your way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Devil Devil_ , MILCK  
>  _Scars_ , Boy Epic


	11. Chapter Eleven: A Man or A Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your feedback - I hope this continues to be an enjoyable read/ride. =)
> 
> In this chapter, there is an attempt at action. ;)

**Chapter Eleven**

**A Man or a Monster**

_'You can't take back the damage you've done;_  
_Oh, you can hide, but you can't run._  
_No, you can't take back the damage you've done,_  
_Afraid of what you might become,_  
_A man or a monster.'_

\---

Something changed in Rey with the prospect of the hunt. Always focused and astonishingly self-disciplined, it was as though all her senses notched up a gear together. She sat forwards in her seat, hand poised over the gearstick and ready to manoeuvre at speed. Although Rey had already explained what drew her attention to the car in the first place, Finn was still impressed. Poe told him similar stories – about how you got used to reading body language and it wasn't some mysterious sixth sense. The signs were always there for the people who knew how to read them.

Unwilling to distract Rey, the man settled back in his seat. He kept his eyes on their quarry and understood straight away was Rey meant about how it kept lurching from one side of the lane to the other. It was starting to make Finn feel seasick.

Without warning, however, the car made a sudden lane change before indicating briefly and pulling off at an exit. Rey cursed loudly, "Shit." It was way too late to attempt making the same exit and they both knew the car would notice them immediately if they came so close behind. Forcing her eyes to stay on the road ahead, Rey said, "Can you see where that road goes? Do you think I could put the lights on if it's out of sight?"

Shifting awkwardly to look over his shoulder, Finn replied, "The road's still in sight, but the car is facing in completely the opposite direction and it's going to hit a treeline in a couple of minutes."

"Worth the risk. We'll keep the siren off though. If they hear that, it could spook them. You might want to hold on to something."

Finn spent the next five minutes terrified for his life. He swore any further time in cars with Poe or Rey was going to turn him prematurely grey. He got the thrill. He did. It was exciting, in a weird way, watching the panicked scramble of other vehicles to get the fuck out of the way when Rey knocked on the lights. He caught the awed glance of a child from the back of one van as they overtook at speed.

And Rey was fantastic. Under her handling, the car almost flew. The bit Finn really, really didn't enjoy, though, was the sharp swerve to take advantage of a gap in the dusty metal buffer separating the two lanes of the road. He could hear the roar of the wheels and smell the cloud of dirt Rey's actions churned up. For a moment, all movement stilled as Rey prepared the car to lurch forwards in the opposite direction. Well before Finn was ready, the car shuddered, storming back to the turn-off they'd nearly missed.

Holding on to a handle in the side of the door for dear life, Finn was somewhat reluctant to follow Rey's terse instruction to update dispatch on their movement. Reaching out for the radio would mean temporarily surrendering an anchor point.

What felt like a lifetime later, the car was bouncing in a most undignified manner down a poorly maintained road. There were potholes everywhere and the crusty, moist patches of mud that signified a lot of rain had fallen here and likely drowned what was left of the tarmac - if there'd ever been any here in the first place. The closer to the trees, the worse the road became and Finn could tell without a doubt it would end up as little better than a dirt track soon.

"You're armed, right?" Rey's brown eyes flickered over to him a couple of times.

"I mean, yeah. I have a gun."

"Right. There's an extra vest in the boot. Get that on as soon as we stop. Keep your eyes peeled – the car could have turned off any-"

"Wait- wait! I have a gun. I do the mandatory training, but it's not- I've never actually in this job-"  _But I don't want to use it. This was supposed to be a desk job._  Finn bit his lip; this was not the time to introduce Rey to his moral quandaries on the usage of firearms. It would invite too many questions, anyway. Questions Finn would not be able to come up with an adequate explanation for.

"I need to know now whether you have my back."

Rey's neutral tone slapped Finn like a cold fish to the face. The terror still lingered under his skin, the horrible sensation of what it would feel like to fire your weapon and actually watch someone bleed and scream because of it. In some ways, Finn had spent his life running from this moment. But Destiny will not be denied forever and often those who flee find themselves running full circle back into the arms of the nightmare they sought to escape. But when Rey put it like that... It wasn't just about the fear anymore. Not just about the injuries. For the first time in a very long time, Finn remembered what it felt like to want to protect something down to the very marrow of your bones.

He burned with the desire to prove to Rey that she could trust him, rely on him to support her. He would not be a liability.

"Sure. I got it." He lifted the side of his FBI jacket to show her the gun nestled quietly at his side. He'd square this away with his conscience another time. It was stupid, really to have ever thought he could have a job like this and avoid this situation forever.

Rey responded only with a nod, her eyes glued to the road in the hope of avoiding any unexpected surprises.

The landscape was bleak, filling Finn with an uncomfortable, prickly sensation of despair. The trees loomed over the road, their branches twisted like limbs writhing in pain. Creepers and vines choked the trunks, before spilling over to dangle down towards unsuspecting travellers. Within the dense foliage, the sun felt months away. Finn had a feeling, if they opened the window, they would be able to hear a range of mournful animal calls.

They travelled for another five minutes before Rey noticed another turn off – if you could even call the rough path hewed into the bushes that. Leaves littered the ground, indicating a large vehicle had recently passed this way. "Might be worth ditching the car and just having a quick look ahead on foot. I'm worried if we get too close without realising, the sound of the engine will give us away."

Finn ignored the tremble in his fingers when he reached to unplug his seatbelt.

Picking their way carefully to avoid dried branches that would snap loudly, they ventured around another bend. Ahead, nestled between the riotous shades of green, Finn could see a rough, mouldering piece of wall. Rey gestured and they silently directed their course towards it. In the heat, Finn was soon sweating. The extra layer of the bullet proof vest felt like a constriction around his chest.

A small clearing opened up, rewarding their cautious approach. The wall formed part of a two-storey building – it had perhaps once been a house. Now derelict, nature was in the process of reclaiming its territory. But the car they had been following was parked brazenly right outside. Two other vehicles in the same clearing indicated the lights were likely to be on and someone very much at home.

As they got closer, ducking from one position of cover to another, Finn realised one of the vehicles was decorated with a beautiful design. The most banged up small minivan you could imagine; each side panel was adorned with a gorgeous image of a soaring bird of prey. Its beak and sharp talons glinted in a bright yellow and, despite all the other scrapes and dents, the black eye glittered as though it could peel itself away from the metal and come to life any second.

Very unusual.

Rey pointed towards a window and Finn understood her meaning. They carefully needed to get close enough to see if they could make out what was going on inside.

\---

Finn's knees were nestled into inches of dry, brown leaf matter. It rustled as a breeze whispered around the woodland and he was pretty certain an unspecified type of insect with more legs than was natural had just crawled across his hand. Gross. Except he needed to concentrate and remember that he was crouched beneath a window sill that looked into a room containing at least six men.

Five of them had guns.

The sixth carried a crossbow.

Seriously. What the fuck. Who even bought one of those anymore? Never mind attempting to use it when you're matching up against bullets. Rey seemed completely unperturbed, her brows creased as she pressed as close to the gaps in the window frame as they dared to hear what was being said inside.

"Solo, you are a dead man."

"Bala-Tik. Not that I don’t enjoy an unexpected visit from an old friend, but what's the problem?"

"The problem is that I loaned you fifty thousand dollars. Then I hear something funny, I heard you also borrowed fifty thousand from Kanjiklub."

"Come on, Bala. We're old friends right? You can't trust the Kanjiklub freaks."

"I want my money back."

"Guys, look, you're both going to get your money back. Have I ever not delivered for you before?"

"Yeah," the guy Solo addressed as Bala looked extremely unimpressed. "Twice. Your game is old. There’s no one left around here for you to swindle anymore and you have nowhere left to hide. Both Kanjiklub and I want our money back.  _Now."_

"I didn't make a deal with Kanjiklub!"

"Tell that to Kanjiklub. Those guys are representing their interests."

Finn didn't really know what to make of the unfolding argument. He didn't know the guy in the middle, but he instinctively gave off the aura of being slippery. Like you could tell him something perfectly clear and the next minute he'd make you believe you’d said the complete opposite. It was a sort of slimy sensation and Finn could vaguely sympathise with the pissed off expressions of the two sets of men (all clothed in black, of course) who were holding him at gunpoint. There was something else though... the man's face- it was nagging at the edges of his memory.

Ducking back down and closer to the ground, Rey motioned for Finn to follow. Speaking only just above the softest whisper, she said excitedly, "Did you hear what they called him?"

Finn's expression remained tellingly blank. "Come on, Finn! 'Solo' – that guy called him Solo. Look at his face! I think that's Han Solo – that's the guy we're supposed to be collating intel reports on! I should have recognised him and the design on the minivan."

Their earlier briefing came rushing back and Finn immediately experienced a queasy sensation that seemed to originate from his knees. Han Solo was the ex-husband of Assistant Director Leia Organa, some sort of legendary FBI hero given the way everyone seemed to murmur about him in hushed, revered tones. That woman scared him at the best of times – he was a little terrified to think what the man who impressed and won her heart must be capable of.

Brows squeezed tight together in concentration, Rey murmured, "We've got to do something. They'll hit him before we can get any back up here." She glanced up once, as though in sudden prayer outside the decaying wooden property. The light brushed against the strong line of her chin and highlighted the dramatic curve of her cheek bones. Rather than washed out, Rey's pale skin seemed to glow in the daylight. Finn swallowed. This was not an appropriate time to be appreciating the aesthetics of his colleague's face.

Twisting so that she was on her hands and knees, Rey instructed with a jerk of her head and a whispered 'Follow me' from the corner of her lips.

Finn made ready to crawl after her, some subconscious element of his mind already aware that he would likely regret this decision.

\---

_'Digging out a memory of who I was before,_  
_Of how I got involved in this endless war._  
_The ones who win don't always need it more.'_

\---

The plan, in the end, was worryingly simple. Find a way into the house from the back. Create some sort of disturbance. Split the bad guys up. Use surprise to take them out. Secure the safety of Han Solo. And his astonishingly hairy companion.

Somehow, Finn had failed to notice the giant of a man standing next to Solo. Finn thought he could have won prizes for the quality and sheer scale of his beard. Matched by thick brown hair that swept over his forehead to meld smoothly into sideburns and that almighty fountain of facial hair, all you could really see of his face were the tops of his cheekbones and dark, dark eyes.

Of course, probably what should have attracted Finn's attention more was that he was the one wielding a crossbow.

A fucking crossbow. Finn still could not get his head around that weapon choice.

Who even used one of those things anymore? What was he? Some kind of technophobe survivalist?

So far. Rey's 'plan', if it merited that title, was going quite well. They'd gone around to the back without problem and found a door at the rear which was unlocked. The hinges were stiff and Finn was terrified that any moment the shriek of metal would bring a metal rain of death down on them, but they managed to force it open just enough that they could squeeze through a slim gap into the dank interior.

Creeping along a damp corridor, they had to take great care as they placed their weight on each new floorboard. Finn's heart was pounding against his ribcage like a jackhammer and his palms were slick with sweat around the handle of his gun. Every so often, he had to force himself to take a deep breath and remember that Rey was counting on him to keep his shit together.

He could do this.

After a moment, they reached the bottom of an incredibly unsteady looking staircase. Most of the bannister rails were snapped and large splinters of wood stuck out at odd angles, as though a huge hand had pushed downwards from above and exerted an unimaginable amount of pressure on the building.

With a brief nod, Rey brushed past to begin her ascent upstairs. He allowed himself a couple of seconds just to breathe in the faintest hint of scent she left behind before heading onwards. The door ahead he wanted was still ajar and light poured outwards. He would have to be so careful not to give the game up by causing any play of shadows.

Closer and closer he went, close enough now that he could hear their voices again. Solo was still trying to talk his way out. Finn could hear a slow, deep rumble that followed one or two of his sentences. It had to happen a few times before Finn realised this was his crossbow wielding companion replying. His voice was of such a fantastic pitch, the lowest bass Finn had ever heard, it was nearly impossible to pick out the individual words.

Solo must apparently have been used to this by now.

"Shut up, Chewie."

As he listened to Solo and his companion bicker, Finn realised he would be completely exposed if he remained here. Any second, Rey was going to make some sort of noise upstairs and at least one of those dangerous, armed criminals was likely to come rushing out. He ducked into another doorway, pressing backwards until he could be confident he would be swallowed by the shadows. Besides. They wouldn't be worried about looking here. They'd be focused upstairs. On Rey.

As if on cue, Finn heard the warning creak of mouldering floorboards. Instantly the argument in the other room stopped.

"Did you hear that?"

"It's an old house. Every bit of it probably fucking creaks."

Seconds later, something large crashed to the ground. At least two of the men in the room swore loudly in shock. Finn couldn't help his grin and wished he could have seen their faces.

"What the hell was that? Is there someone else here, Solo? I swear to God, if there fucking is I'm just going shoot you both now."

"Listen, buddy. There ain't no one else here that I know about. But that crash? I'm working on your boss's shipment and I got some really bloody interesting critters upstairs. Chewie and I were about to check the tanks over before you lot came storming in. Let's hope it wasn't one of those that just took a tumble."

"You're so full of shit, Solo." It was the first guy talking again and Finn started to detect the trace of an Irish accent. Useful for future identification purposes. Also encouraging to know that the analyst in him hadn't been terrified into submission yet. The talking stopped again, but Finn could already hear two sets of feet heading his way. Made sense. That's what he would have suggested too.

He allowed the men to pass by, so near he could smell the fusty scent of cigarettes that clung to their combat clothes. Counting the seconds, the man waited until they had got to the top of the steps and made their way along the landing. This was the riskiest part of the whole bloody idea. It wasn't like him and Rey were some highly trained SWAT Team with all sorts of fancy resources to use.

They had two guns and their wits.

As soon as they were out of sight of the bannisters, Finn darted out on silent feet. He had to get up in time to help Rey or this would all be for nothing. He crouched on the last few steps, watching as the men walked up to the door of the final room they needed to search. He had to get there quickly and without being noticed.

When a hand touched the old handle, he crept up a step. When they finally both stalked forwards inside the room, Finn was on the landing before he could lose his nerve and become too scared to move. Heart hammering wildly, he strode along the rickety corridor. Finn reached his target just in time to hear one of them exclaim, "Who the hell are you?"

Acting before he could talk himself out of it, Finn pushed his way into what had once been a bedroom and shoved his gun into the back of the other gangster's head. He pressed close behind the pair, forcing them inside so that he could shut the door to muffle any immediate protestations. "Shut the hell up," he added sternly, praying harder than he ever had in his life that shock prevented the two gunmen from calling their bluff and that he sounded much tougher and more intimidating than he felt with a weapon clutched in clammy, slightly shaking fingers.

Rey already had her gun pointed at the other guy, whose hand was hovering reflexively over his belt. "Don't even think about it," she ordered. Finn felt a faint chill run down his spine at how authoritative she sounded. A good chill… if there was that type of thing? If Rey could project that aura of calm, Finn was determined not to let their side down.

Jabbing his guy in the back of the head, he added his own command, "Both of you put your hands out to the side and don't make a fucking sound." He waited until his target had reluctantly extended his hands before lightly patting the back of his waist until he found the weapon he was looking for. Gently extracting it and rehoming it in a similar position behind his own back, Finn caught Rey's eye.

Time to sort out one half of their problems.

Raising his arm and hoping for the best, Finn slammed the butt of his gun just above the guy's temple. He gave a short cry of alarm before collapsing into Finn's arms. Okay. So he could now say that he had officially pistol-whipped someone. What the hell was happening to his life?

Not liking what had befallen his buddy, the other goon advanced a couple of uncertain steps towards Rey who was clearly reluctant to fire and give their presence away. Finn deposited his guy without ceremony onto the splintering, mouldy wooden floor. Leaping over the body, he caught the other man around the neck in a secure choke hold.

He felt the man's hands scratching at his forearms and floundering for his face, but nothing quite seemed real in the haze of red mist. Hours spent practising self-defence meant instinct finally took over and Finn adjusted his hold to increase the pressure on key pressure points in the neck. Either that or lack of oxygen would make this guy pass out. Finn found he didn't care much which.

\---

Time seemed to move strangely. Finn couldn't tell whether seconds, minutes, or hours were passing them while they were in that sad, abandoned house. What he did know for sure was that he felt like he'd walked straight into some sort of Tarantino film. Only he hoped there were going to be a lot less corpses by the final scene.

The next events had a surreal quality to them, as though he was watching them unfold from outside his body. Having knocked the two goons unconscious and stripped them of as many obvious weapons as possible, Finn and Rey had tiptoed quietly back across the landing and down the stairs. They pressed themselves flat against the wall right next to the doorframe of the room containing Solo and his hairy, strangely incomprehensible friend.

They waited, listening with bated breath for the moment when the remaining foot soldiers would realise something wasn't quite right.

"You better have been joking about those fucking animals, Solo."

"Why don't you go find out for yourself. Be my guest."

Finn and Rey couldn't hear a further exchange between the guards, but the footsteps approaching the doorway were crystal clear. Now or never. There hadn't been time to talk through a specific plan, but Finn knew without a doubt that they were operating on the same wavelength. He nodded at Rey, amazed at the wicked vibrancy of her dark eyes.

The man emerged into the dingy hallway, immediately turning right to head upstairs. At that moment, Finn lunged kicking a booted foot sharply into the back of his knee to bring him down and seizing his wrist without hesitation to take control of the firearm dangling loosely from his fingers. With half an eye on the scrabble on the ground, Rey now turned further into the room with her own gun aimed squarely at the remaining gangster’s forehead.

"Drop your weapon!"

He stared at her, his mouth dropping open in shock and confusion, "What the  _fuck_? Who the hell-"

The man, who definitely had a rolling Irish accent and thick dark hair, didn't have time to finish his sentence. At that moment, a cry of sheer agony escaped from his lips and he collapsed suddenly towards the floor. The last firearm outside of their control also fell from his grip, as he brought both hands to his thigh. It wasn't easy to tell in the gloom, but Rey eventually caught a glimpse of the pale fletching of an arrow.

Unfortunately, the firearm had fallen with Bala-Tik's finger still resting gently against the trigger. The bullet exploded from the barrel with a flash and an unexpected bang that caused them all to dive for the floor. For a second, no one dared to move, frozen with their faces pressed to the ground. When it became clear that the only sound that could be heard in the room was Bala-Tik's unhappy whimpers provoked by the arrow protruding from the meat of his thigh, Solo gingerly regained his feet and began to brush his clothes down.

"Wow. That thing really works, huh?"

Rey glanced across the room in time to see Chewie, Solo's extremely tall travelling companion, lowering his crossbow without a shred of concern for the injury he'd inflicted. Solo continued to gaze at his now crippled would-be-murderer, "Can I get one of those?" Apparently Solo had missed the fact his friend had dropped his weapon to clutch at the top of his arm. Rey gasped in horror as a bright red patch began to seep through the cracks between Chewie's large fingers.

So much for getting out of here without a single casualty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Man or A Monster_ , Sam Tinnesz  
>  _Hailstorms_ , Hugo


	12. Chapter Twelve: Carry Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for comments/kudos - I say it every week, but any feedback is much appreciated. =)
> 
> In this instalment, we continue at pace. =)

**Chapter Twelve**

**Carry Me Home**

_'The more pain I feel, the less that it hurts._  
_The more I move on the more I am sure_  
_That I will rob 'til my fingers they are down to the bone_  
_Wander 'til I can't remember my own home_  
_Drink 'til I don't know the meaning of alone_  
_'Til that bullet flies to carry me home.'_

\---

The conversation with Solo following these events had gone something like this:

"Hi. We're Finn and Rey with the FBI and the State Police. We've been looking for you."

Sullen, confrontational silence from Solo. 'Chewie' remained focused on his arm, mournfully grumbling to himself.

"So. We've got some news about your estranged son. Our team think they've found a new lead and now your estranged wife thinks your son may still be alive, may also be a serial killer, and might be coming to murder you. We're here to take you somewhere safe."

Solo turned away from them, his lips twisted into a sneer of exasperation as he laced his hands together behind his head. He was muttering something, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. Finn found himself puffing out his cheeks helplessly, wishing they had Poe with them. Poe who could spin words until they sounded like molten gold, Poe who could bring the light out in the grimmest of situations.

Yeah. Poe would have known what to say to Solo. They would have bonded with each other straightaway, if they hadn't already met. He'd have known what to do about an injured giant – how to approach him without fear of an arrow landing between his eyes. He hovered uncertainly in Chewie's direction, hands half stretched out in a motion that he hoped projected calm assistance. Chewie's fierce eyes met his own for a fraction of a second before the man literally roared and shoved Finn backwards with his good arm. Having nearly knocked Finn off his feet, he retreated with slow steps behind Solo.

After a few moments of pacing like a caged animal and showing no obvious sign of concern for his friend's distress, Leia's ex-husband turned to them and shook his head, "Forget it."

To Finn's surprise, it was Rey who suddenly fired to life. She strode over to the only exit from the room and spread her arms so that she was gripping the crumbling doorframe on each side. Solo raised a single eyebrow, as if to say, 'Really? That's the best you have?'

Planting her feet firmly into the floorboards, Rey stared at him accusingly, "You should listen. You want to know what the FBI think your son has been doing? Systematically murdering innocent, helpless men. Men he knows no one will miss. Vulnerable, homeless, lonely. And the way he's been killing them? Brutal. In some of the photos I've seen, some of the corpses don't even look like they have heads anymore."

Rey paused for breath, raising her chin as challenging Solo to stop her. He didn't move, frozen to the spot since she'd mentioned the word 'son' again. "You want to know why people are worried about you? Because _your son_ recently kidnapped an FBI agent. An agent he knew. An agent he had history with. He's _escalating_. How long do you think it'll be before it's not enough for him to hunt down old friends, old connections anymore? And if you won't do it to protect your own life, maybe you'll come with us for Assistant Director Organa. She's facing all of this alone right now. You'll just walk away and leave her to deal with all this without help?"

Solo looked distinctly uncomfortable. Where the words had slipped so easily from his lips as he bartered for his life, they seemed to have abandoned him now. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but no sound came out. Softly, Chewie bent down and murmured something into his ear. As he spoke, Solo managed to nod and frown simultaneously.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's what you think, far be it from me to argue. I still think we could look after ourselves better. We've been doing just fine all these years."

An incomprehensible protestation. "Yes, we have," argued Solo. "I always managed to talk my way out of things. We'd have done the same thing today. But I'm not going to argue with a few extra pairs of hands." He nodded towards Rey, "You seemed pretty cool walking into a house with four armed men and just the two of you."

Uncertain as to whether this was a statement or meant as a compliment, Rey shrugged, "We couldn't stand back and do nothing."

Solo nodded again, "Well. Before I go anywhere with you lot, I need a drink."

By this point Rey had dropped her arms and the man strode past her without a backwards glance. Glancing at Finn in shock, Rey almost tripped over her own boots as she scrambled to keep up with him. "Hey! Wait! You can't just walk off. We've got back up heading this way. What about Chewie's arm?"

Solo shrugged, "Your problem, not mine. I reckon our friends in there will keep them busy. I can guarantee they'll have records longer than my arm. Plus, I've seen his arm – it's a scratch. Chewie agrees, don't you?"

He was outside now and Finn found himself absurdly grateful to see the little pockets of sunlight making it through the trees. Chewie gave some sort of garbled response that he didn't quite follow, but it certainly didn't sound like he was arguing about heading to a bar. The trunks of the trees wove back and forth with an infinite gentleness, reminding him that he was alive, Rey was alive, and they'd made it through the nightmare of the last hour without major damage. There was nothing to bring elation like a narrow brush with death.

"Well, look. Can you wait for us to get our car?"

"Nope. I'm taking the Falcon."

Swearing under her breath, Rey stormed towards the Millennium Falcon (which Finn still thought was an absurd name for such a hunk of junk), "Fine. Asshole. If you won't wait, we'll just have to stay with you until you're ready to come in. Hey- wait. Did you say the Falcon?"

"Yeah?"

"As in _the_ Millennium Falcon? This is the van that made the Kessel Run in fourteen seconds? I thought this must have been a replica or something?"

Solo made a strange noise in the back of his throat, midway between satisfaction at the fact his legendary exploits lived on and horror at the inaccuracies with which they were being retold. "Twelve! Fourteen, really. A _replica?_ Who told you that shit?"

Rey spread her hands in exasperation, "Fine, twelve. Whatever. It's impressive, but it doesn't change the fact we're coming with you."

Clearly not used to being challenged in such a provocative manner, Han Solo just tilted his head in mild confusion as Rey buckled herself determinedly into the passenger seat of his baby. Impressed at her tenacity (but unwilling to give any outward indication of this), the older man simply rolled his shoulders. "Suit yourself. But the place we're going to isn't all that fond of law enforcement."

He set about easing himself into the driver's seat, which left Finn outside and alone with Chewie. Entirely confused as to how this sequence of events had come about, he turned to Solo's physically intimidating travel companion in mild despair. He was pretty certain Chewie said something before heading over to get into one of the backseats of the artfully decorated vehicle.

From where stood, Finn could still look up and absorb those tiny scraps of blue sky above.

The engine started.

"For fuck's sake," shaking himself out of the reverie, he legged it for the car. Inside Chewie looked as though he was practically folded in two to avoid bashing his shaggy head on the car's dimpled roof. This journey was going to be cosy.

"Hey, how you doing? My name's Finn."

Silence. And a mournful shake of the head.

"Boy wonder," Solo snapped from the front, "make yourself useful and see if you can help Chewie with his arm." Finn didn't have time to duck as a roll of bandages, medical tape, and some anti-bac wipes were lobbed his way from the passenger glove compartment. For his own sanity, Finn decided not to think about what such freely available first aid equipment said about the lives these two must lead.

He hesitated another look at Chewie, who was staring right back and still clutching at his arm protectively with those large, large hands. God help him.

Because Finn didn't think anyone else would.

\---

"You're sure this is the right place?"

Rey gazed at the building in front of her dubiously. They had long since left the interstate, twisting and turning down innumerable dirt tracks until even Rey was hopelessly lost. At a guess, she thought they were somewhere along the edges of wetland territory, with black willow trees looming at the edges of the makeshift roads.

In the rear-view mirror, she could see Finn gazing miserably out of the window. He seemed to be physically attempting to shrink himself in order to avoid inadvertent contact with Han Solo's sidekick.

Instinctively, Rey sort of liked Chewie. He seemed a lot more straightforward than Solo, none of this sharp talking crap. A man of action. Rey could understand that. She infinitely preferred to cut to the point, rip the plaster off as it were.

Solo, however, was already out of the car, so Rey scrambled to follow. The building – which was at the point where you could be forgiven for referring to it as a shack – perched precariously on wooden stilts. The wood gave the impression of being soaked through and plants were peeking through every crack and clinging to as many of the available surfaces as they could.

There were no cars parked directly outside. Rey couldn't hear the rumbling chatter of tipsy patrons. All in all, it gave the impression of being dilapidated and devoid of life.

A stronger gust of wind caused the building to creak. Rey would swear she could see the entire structure totter backwards and forwards. Finn was by her side now and they shared a similar look of disbelief. This was what Solo had forced them to drive all this way for? Sighing, Rey pulled out her phone in order to assess what the signal situation was like.

"What did you say this place was called again?"

"This? This place is famous. This is Maz Kanata's place."

Rey raised an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the name. Instead she busied herself with texting their new location to various colleagues with a request to send transport ASAP. Solo watched her give up their secret, but made no move to stop it. A deal was a deal. He'd asked for a drink and here they were.

Unwilling to waste any more time, the older man strode towards the rickety steps that would take them up to the equally rickety wooden deck that wrapped around the entire building.

"I should warn you, this isn't the kinda place where your uniform or a fancy badge is going to make you particularly welcome."

His tone was sarcastic and unfeeling. Rey was still glued to her phone and showed no sign that she'd heard the warning. On instinct, Finn drew closer to their charge, deeply worried about the kind of clientele this alleged infamous bar attracted – the kind of people that held a grudge against authority and sought any means to draw equal? Gang members with guns? Ex-cons with an axe to grind? People who might know a little bit more about Finn's past than anyone else here… "Hey, Solo. I'm not sure what we're walking into here-"

Han stopped in his tracks, pulling a face, "Did you just call me 'Solo'?"

"Sorry. Han. Mr. Solo." Fuck. Finn felt his cheeks start to burn with embarrassment. Could the ground just not swallow him up? Rey had finished with her messages and was hurrying to catch up – not quite within hearing distance – and Finn just couldn't stop his mouth from running, "You remember I'm with the FBI? It's kind of a big deal. Puts a target on my back. What kind of bad guys are in there? Like, you know, gang members or whatever who might wanna… you know... Because I'm pretty sure I nearly died several times already trying to help your friend over there and I'm not really up for risking my life again."

Without warning both Solo and Chewie stopped walking and rounded on Finn. Solo's eyes flashed with anger and he jabbed at Finn's chest accusingly, "You hurt Chewie? If you did, you're gonna deal with me."

Finn's already wide eyes (if it was possible) boggled further at the unjust accusation. "Hurt _him_?" He gesticulated to the rough and ready, bloodied bandage wrapped around the outside of Chewie's shirt, just about hanging on for dear life, "He almost killed me six times!" The last words were barely out of his mouth before Finn felt a large, hairy hand wrap around his throat. Fighting the urge to wrap his hands around the taller man's wrist, Finn held them up in as pacifying manner as possible, "Which is fine. Totally fine. He was a great patient."

Still not moving, Han gave Finn a scathing once over, making the young man suddenly conscious of every patch of dried mud, grass stain, and sweat mark littering his clothing. There were even a few tears here and there, including over Finn's left shoulder where a small sliver of skin was exposed. Han jabbed a finger on that precise spot and a sensation like ice water being thrown over him rippled down his spine. He knew what Han had seen. "Listen, _Big Deal_." His eyes flicked between Finn and Rey, a knowing glint in his eyes, "You got another problem. Women always figure out the truth. Always."

By this point, Rey had drawn level and was looking between them with evident confusion. Finn's heart was in his mouth, wondering whether Solo was going to bust him, strip back his bravado in front of Rey, and expose him for the cowardly liar he really was.

Instead Solo turned away, smoothing his expression of mild contempt into something more neutral and inscrutable. "Maz is a bit of an acquired taste, so just let me do the talking. Oh, and when you get inside, try not to stare."

One more obvious question couldn't help itself from slipping out of Finn's lips, "Stare at what?"

"Any of it."

\---

Solo swaggered up to the grime-ridden front door with all the confidence in the world. Almost completely wooden, there were four smudged, dirty panels of what could have been glass at the top. Although Rey tried to peek through before they went inside, it was impossible due to the layers of filth and mildew that had built up over the years.

For all the wear and tear though, the door didn't make a squeak as Han pulled it open. Smoothing back his hair, he ducked inside as Rey caught the merry jingles of a small bell.

The minute they walked in, Rey realised that – cliché aside – this building looked a lot bigger (and tidier) on the inside. It reminded her of the small, roadside bars she was usually called to on a Friday or Saturday night when high emotions and alcohol abuse collided violently. Men and women, of all shapes and sizes, were gathered around small wooden tables, most of them clutching as glasses. Rey tried so hard to follow Solo's instructions, not to let her eyes linger too long on one card game or one group quietly conversing in a corner, but it was difficult.

Every person in here had a hard look about them, a turn down at the mouth that said, 'I know struggle and difficulty'. Finn was doing worse; his mouth hung open in an expression edging towards horror and he'd inched visibly closer to Solo.

When they first entered, there had been a hushed, but reasonably lively level of conversation and inoffensive music playing softly in the background. As soon as the door closed behind them, silence reigned. Eyes glinted sharply at their group as they inched slowly towards the bar at the back of the room.

Suddenly, a sharp voice cut across the space, "Han Solo!"

"Oh boy," Solo sounded resigned and Rey guessed he would have smacked his forehead if he could have gotten away with it in time. He plastered on a grin that didn't reach his eyes, "Hey, Maz."

"Where's my boyfriend?"

"Chewie's outside, working on the Falcon."

"I like that man."

Now, it became almost impossible not to stare. Whatever Rey had been expecting in terms of the proprietor of this… unique establishment, this lady was not quite it. She stood not much higher than five feet, peering beadily up at the new arrivals through the singularly largest pair of glasses Rey had ever seen. The lenses were so round and thick they entirely eclipsed the frames, magnifying Maz's eyes. The dark pupils glittered like beautiful beetles, darting quickly over people and objects to make rapid, accurate assessments of character.

Those large, dark eyes lingered for a few long seconds on Rey and then Finn in turn. She met Maz's gaze briefly and had to avert them with just as much speed, feeling uncomfortably like her soul had been scraped off the back of her retinas.

Maz peered back at Solo, before continuing, "I assume you need something. Desperately if you're willing to show your face here. Let's get to it."

The tiny figure gestured for them to follow, tottering comfortably over worn floorboards to a quieter corner at the back. Around them, various groups were starting to talk again. Soon a comfortable, lively atmosphere was re-established; Rey exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She also felt her fingers relax, her hand drifting aware from where it rested just above her holster.

The group were so focused on Maz, they didn't note a slim female and larger male figure slink outside. Originally draped across each other in the bar, her lithe form and his heavily muscled figure seemed to slip from shadow to shadow. Dark eyes fluttering, the woman glanced just once over her shoulder. No one turned. Not one of them even noticed when they started their car, hidden in bushes and vine growth on the twisting road leading away from the bar. No one noticed that they only pulled out once the convoy carrying Solo had left, tracking with silent, determined persistence.

\---

_''Cause there's no use running,_   
_'Cause the storm's still coming,_   
_And you've been running for too many years.'_

\---

"There's been a hit on our request for information on your father."

Kylo glanced up sharply from the bed. He'd settled half an hour earlier, eyes closed as his breathing slowed and evened out. In some ways, Hux was jealous of Ren's ability to relax like this. He'd never been much of a one for holistic mumbo jumbo, but if anyone could ever convince him of the benefits of meditation – it would be Ren.

"Which one?"

"Just one of the posts I made on a forum on the Darknet. Offered a bit of cash. Someone's come back saying they've seen Solo and can provide proof."

"Can we afford to pay?"

Hux pulled a face. "I have no interest in leaving unnecessary trails or being taken for a fool more than once, but yes. The funds and the method are there to take a chance."

Kylo lowered his head back onto the cool cotton of the pillowcase. "Follow it through. I think this will prove genuine."

"You can't possibly know that."

He shrugged apathetically, "Maybe not. But that's what I feel."

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the motel room were the regular rhythm of Hux's typing and Kylo's gentle inhales and exhales. Finally, Hux spoke again, "Source says they were in a bar when Solo walked in with a cop and probably a Fed."

Hissing between his teeth, Ren rubbed at his forehead. "They've managed to find him first. This could complicate things. They'll take him to a safe house. If I don't strike quickly, I could lose the trail."

"I have a photograph."

Wordlessly, Kylo held his hand out for the tablet Hux had been using. The red-haired man unhooked his small keyboard from the device and passed it over. Kylo frowned at the picture, "The Fed. I recognise him. He works with Dameron and… her."

Hux didn't ask where this information came from. They still hadn't exactly worked through Kylo's decision process when it came to taking Dameron. Whilst Hux was as game as anyone to prove to state authorities exactly how limited and stupid they were, Dameron had been a personal target and opened them up to a lot of exposure. Exposure Hux was increasingly starting to think it would have been simpler to avoid. Now the scrutiny in the area would be so much higher, operating so much more difficult.

Ren's magical, maddening words about Dameron being their first joint project had been alluring when the man was imprisoned at their mercy… Now, so far from that pitiful, abandoned church, Ren's impassioned promises were losing their influence and Hux could feel the initial itch of rage scratching in what was left of his soul at the way he'd allowed himself to be taken in.

After another moment of starting at the screen transfixed, Kylo handed back the device with obvious reluctance. "It's definitely him. Go back to whoever sold you the photo. Tell them to follow where they take Solo and we'll pay double, triple. Whatever it takes."

\---

Maz proved extremely hospitable, settling them down on a (surprisingly) clean table with drinks (non-alcoholic for those on duty) and fresh fruit. All in all, a rather bizarre combination. Rey wasn't going to argue though. The ambience of the bar was right back to normal and she felt settled and able to concentrate on the conversation around her for the first time since they pulled up outside.

"So this is about him, is it? Want to know if I've heard anything. You're right back in the mess." Maz's tone was difficult to pinpoint, not chiding, not critical, but certainly not playful.

"Maz, your network is one of the best. If you got them on the job and they came across something good, maybe you could find a way to get in touch with Leia if there's anything she ought to know?"

The short woman rounded on him, rising up to place her hands firmly down on the wooden table top. Rey didn't need to glance into her large, large eyes to know that they contained anger and accusation. "No. You've been running away from this fight for too long. Han, go home."

"Leia doesn't want to see me."

"And yet you never seem to have wandered very far and somehow these two children are here to take you home to her."

"Please, Maz, I came here for your help." Solo sounded truly desperate now, reaching for any hint, any sign that he might avoid a reunion that had been so many painful years in the making.

Finn did not attempt to hide the mildly outraged expression on his face when Maz described them as 'children,' but that wasn't the aspect of her speech that gave Rey pause for thought. "What fight?"

Maz paused, swivelling her magnifying gaze to observe Rey, "The only fight. Against the dark, against evil. I've seen it take many forms over the years: robbery, assault, rape, murder – of innocents, races, creeds."

To her left, Rey heard Finn snort derisively. "There's no 'fight' against that. Not one anyone can win. Look around. People get hurt and hurt each other and die every day. I bet you it's happening right now, in this room or just out- What- What are you doing?" He stopped abruptly as Maz began to adjust her goggles/glasses contraption. If possible, her pupils grew ever wider until the black totally swallowed any hint of colour from the iris. Unbothered about the cups and plates already laid out, she scrabbled towards Finn and peered at him over the makeshift fruit bowl.

From the corner of his mouth, Finn muttered desperately, "Solo, what is she doing?"

"I don't know, but it ain't good."

"If you live long enough," interrupted Maz calmly and without a shred of self-consciousness at her odd position, "you see the same eyes in different people. I'm looking at the eyes of a man who wants to run. Don't you understand no matter how far you go, you will never stop running?"

All trace of humour disappeared from Finn's face. In fact, Rey couldn't recall ever seeing him this serious, this angry. He glowered at Maz, abruptly getting to his feet. "You don't know a thing about me," he snarled. "Where I'm from. What I've seen. You talk about darkness – I'll bet you don't know it like I do. If we had any common sense, we would all run."

In her mind, Rey saw flashes of imagined memory from the stories Finn had shared about his past. Funerals. Guns. Pleas for help to slaughter another human. She gazed up at him stunned. Maz, for what it was worth, appeared thoroughly unaffected. Crawling back across the table, she settled onto her stool and watched Finn stalk across the room towards the exit.

Unhappy at the idea of Finn being left to brood alone, Rey found herself on her feet. She cast a quick look at the other two figures seated at the table, before starting off and calling "Finn!" at the same time.

Perhaps surprisingly, he waited for her by the door. "You didn't have to come with me." Finn's voice was softer now, almost reproachful for his earlier aggression. With a slow, heavy hand, Finn reached out for the grubby metal doorknob.

Rey placed her fingers on his gently, "Don't go."

Finn shook his head, "I'm not who you think I am."

Quizzically, Rey looked up at him, unable to read his meaning in his expression, "I'm not some hotshot FBI Agent. I'm no hero. I'm an analyst and a coward. I was raised in a neighbourhood where it somehow becomes okay to talk about killing other people as casually as your grocery shop or weekend plans. I made a choice. I said I wouldn't, but instead of standing up for myself and trying to protect the people I cared about, I ran. And that's not even the half of it."

He paused and Rey tried hard to swallow back the tears she was embarrassed to admit were starting to prick at the corner of her eyes. "I ran. I ran to the FBI and then right into you. And you looked at me like no one ever had."

Nodding, Rey couldn't trust herself to speak. She glanced back to see that Han and Maz were still deep in conversation. Rey wasn't sure there was much more to gain there by listening to Maz's cryptic quasi-predictions and felt she could be more use to Finn. Shooting him a brief smile, Rey lightly rested a hand on his shoulder, "Come on. Let's go wait outside. Maybe Chewie needs some help with the Falcon."

It was difficult to tell whether Rey consciously chose to ignore that Finn brought out an unusual side to her or whether she truly was so wrapped up in caring for his immediate welfare that she just hadn't noticed. But on the whole, Rey was not a hands-on kind of person. Sure, she would comfort a young child or an adult in initial shock, but she wasn't in the habit of reaching out to her co-workers and inviting their confidences. She certainly wasn't in the habit of sharing her story in return.

Somehow Finn made it seem so natural, so easy. Rey knew more about him than probably any other person alive and had opened up more of herself to him than any other adult. If she had dwelt on this new-found vulnerability, she would almost certainly have found it terrifying and unsustainable. As such, it was probably a good thing these thoughts were buried deep, deep into her subconscious so that she couldn't start sabotaging the most positive development in her life for many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _The Bullet_ , The Devil Makes Three  
>  _When the Earth Stands Still_ , Don Macdonald


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Hurt You From Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments and feedback. =)
> 
> This week, we continue to lurch forwards with a very painful, angst-y reunion...

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Hurt You From Inside**

_'I'm learning all your tricks;_  
_I can hurt you from inside._  
_I made myself a promise_  
_You would never see me cry._  
_Til I make you._  
_You'll never know what hit you.'_

\---

As Kylo instructed Hux to begin the final hunt for his father, a gnawing sensation worried at the back of his mind. Even as a young child, Kylo instinctively hid himself from complex feelings and emotions. Situations where he was likely to risk losing his self-control, or just control in general, were to be avoided. Clearly, this meant other human beings in general were something of a problem.

His parents noticed his withdrawal, of course. He couldn't honestly say those two miserable excuses for adults ever pushed him in a direction he didn't want to go himself. They didn't raise him with the expectation of following their footsteps in the glorious career of law enforcement. Well, they never said it overtly. But Kylo could read it in their eyes; the way they searched his face earnestly at the arrival of another mixed school report, attempting to work out where his talents lay and whether they were something of a promising match for their own.

He especially hated it in the way they tried to make him talk to his fucking uncle all the time. Skywalker – and, seriously, what the fuck? Who picks that for a surname? His grandparents must have been hippies or something. Skywalker was still training at that point, still mooned over by every moronic rookie FBI agent Kylo encountered through his parents' work. With his profiling skills so honed and well-researched, people sometimes thought Luke Skywalker was genuinely psychic.

Fact, figures, statistics, probabilities. Kylo saw through the mumbo jumbo. With some crimes, there was a clear pattern in the type of individual likely to commit them. It didn't take a fucking rocket scientist to figure that out. What Kylo detested most, though, were the whispered conversations behind his back. The anxious way his mother would appeal to his uncle, trying to understand what was 'wrong' with her son.

As far as Kylo was concerned, there was nothing wrong with him. He just wanted to live his life a different way. But still they treated him like some sort of medical case that needed diagnosing and treating, pretending to accept but never truly believing the platitudes they heaped upon him.

Anger turned into rage, rage into hate.

Kylo hated his parents, and his uncle, and the police and the FBI and the government and every single person who expected him to behave a certain way, expected him to conform to the pattern of behaviour today's authority decided was appropriate. They were blinkered, unimaginative fools who wanted to cage and contain his potential.

He wasn't sure exactly when the idea first occurred to him. Kylo would never know if a specific small event triggered it. All he could remember was that he began to consider the possibility of humiliating them all. Actually, humiliating was the wrong word. It was childish, smacking of crass teenage rebellion. No. He wanted to do something better. He wanted to show them just how fragile this make-believe idea of order they entertained was. Kylo planned to rip those nearest to him to shreds, lacerating their cores until it would be too painful to carry on.

Everything started off beautifully. He played his role to perfection, just surly enough that nobody thought to comment on the miraculous swing in his behaviour, but just bearable enough he would pass whatever psychometric tests they subjected him to. To be honest, Kylo couldn't actually say he entered the FBI expressly with that single purpose in mind. He nursed a general idea and allowed events around him to give it shape.

And there was only one moment, a few damned seconds that Kylo wished more than anything he could erase from his conscious memory. That time with Poe Dameron. He'd lured Poe to his bedroom, no other word for it. Poe, who shone with a boyish enthusiasm that literally made Kylo want to vomit every time he walked into their classroom. Poe. Poe gave off this light. It was in his smile, the white flash of his teeth, the small spring in his step.

Kylo hated him.

And lusted for him.

He'd never felt an attraction so strong. An appetite awoke in him that couldn't be satiated. He thirsted, but the precious water always remained out of reach. Kylo was sure no one could be that perfect. Poe had to be prey to imperfections and weaknesses the same as any mortal man.

So he set out to find them and tempt them.

It would be the most wonderful proof, that even the poster boy for morality and all the trumped-up values the western world thrust down the necks of its citizens could falter, could fall victim to his own vices. So Kylo lured him to his room, convinced in his own ability to seduce.

He hadn't expected Poe's adamant refusal. It hadn't really occurred to him that Poe might genuinely hold true to the principles he espoused.

The effect was two-fold. Firstly, Kylo's desire to dirty him, to thoroughly ruin that pristine reputation ballooned. His dreams about Dameron were graphic and feverish. It took every ounce of his self-control for the first few days after their ill-planned encounter to get his libido back under to control. He lost count of the number of cold showers and furious sessions stroking himself off. But equally, he knew they would be watching him carefully. Dameron couldn't have risked not telling someone about what happened.

Secondly, and most humiliatingly, it made him weak. If he'd just done the job properly, Dameron would have been another corpse among the lifeless bodies of his former students. Instead, Kylo took the risk of planning that elaborate training 'accident', ensuring Dameron would be nowhere near the chosen location for his final strike.

Kylo loathed himself for this indulgence of his human nature, for this lapse away from his ideal purpose. And when he saw Dameron again, after all those years, bumbling like an idiot into his pristine crime scene, it all rushed back. The desire. The anger. Here was his chance to redeem himself for that weakness so many years ago. He had the opportunity to ruin Dameron the way he should have done, better now perhaps with Hux to orchestrate something particularly beautiful and agonising.

And now he sat in this mouldering motel room, awaiting confirmation of his father's bed down location. Even as he tried to imagine what it would feel like, Kylo could feel that same tremble in his fingertips. Could he really do it? Could he really snuff out the life of the man he half-owed his existence to? Patricide. It was an ugly word. The kind of word that you had to tug stubbornly out of your mouth, as though it gripped your lips and your tongue and your gums with the force of the taboo.

It was there again, that damned pull towards the light. Kylo hated it. Hated what he envisaged the light represented. If he got too close, he began to find himself asking uncomfortable questions, trying to evaluate whether he had made best use of his life so far? No, better to hold on the hate. It gave him a single, pure purpose. He could and would kill that crass, pathetic excuse for a conman. Kylo felt his lip twist in disdain. Yes, compared to the high murdering a stranger brought, imagine what this would feel like.

To finally be free of one of those weights dragging him down. He would exorcise the effect of his father's weakness from his life and he would be left stronger, a hunter and a predator, a worthy companion for Hux, who managed to kill in such a sterile, austere bubble.

\---

Back outside, Finn continued to pace up and down the rotted decking. His earlier anger seemed to have subsided, replaced with a sense of fragility. Rey didn't speak. She didn't know what to say, but even if there had been words, she knew now wasn't the time. Instead she perched on the edge of the decking, her feet dangling loosely over the side above the tall grass of the swampland as she peered out into miles of vegetation.

A few metres away at the edge of the clearing, she could make out Chewie working away on the Falcon engine. She itched to join him. By nature, Rey was practical. She didn't have a clue how to diagnose a broken person or begin fixing them, but she was brilliant with machines. They were so much simpler. They worked by rules dictated by their human creators. As long as you knew those rules, it was usually straightforward working out where the problem lay.

Tearing her eyes away with difficulty from the twists and turns of the metal engine, Rey noticed a cloud of dust rising above the treeline. It took her mind a moment to catch up and register that it might be more than a trick of the light. Gradually she could see the white fug growing larger, more defined. It was getting closer. A vehicle perhaps? Maybe more than one, racing along a dirt track?

Scrambling to her feet, Rey called sharply and pointed out over the forest, "Finn! I think someone's coming."

The young man tilted his head before ambling over to follow the line of sight marked out by her slim finger. He said nothing upon seeing the dust cloud. They simply stood together in silence, facing out and waiting.

Eventually, a number of smart vehicles – cars and SUVs with dark tinted window poured out of the undergrowth. They created a neat fan shape, almost aggressively facing off against Maz's ancient bar.

For a few moments, the uneasy stand-off continued. Then, abruptly, the passenger door of one of the bigger cars opened and Poe shucked himself out. Even with one arm still in a half cast, he managed to look smooth and controlled, placing his feet confidently apart on the dry earth. His expression morphed from one of concern to sheer delight when he saw the welcome committee.

"Finn! Rey! Are you guys alright?"

Rey glanced up at Finn, unsure of where to start their story and uncertain if this was the right time. All at once, seeing a familiar face, Rey wanted nothing more than to tell him everything and unburden herself from the responsibility of what they'd done. She was just a rookie cop, for God's sake. Not meant to go racing around countryside with an FBI analyst scared of guns and rescuing rogue smugglers. Rey found herself craving the regular routine of her normal shifts, her patrol partners.

Thankfully, they were spared the need to reply. Han chose precisely that moment to barrel through Maz's front door, loudly complaining, "What's with all this racket? What the hell-" He'd taken a few more steps and seen Poe. The two men gazed at each other; Poe's face had gone white, like he was staring at a ghost.

Behind them another door opened. A precise voice Rey recognised as belonging to the FBI's Press Officer filled the air. An older, slender gentleman with neatly combed grey hair, he was one of the fussiest, prickliest men she had ever met. Yet somehow this fusspot possessed an incomparable knowledge of languages and the ability to play the press to any tune he chose. "Oh my. What a journey. If you can call that driving. Completely unsafe. We could have all been killed." Rey was sure he must have a proper name, but she'd only ever heard the others refer to as C3PO. She guessed this was probably a nickname related to a badge number or something similar.

It could have been the play of shadows, but Rey thought the driver of the car flipped the fussing man the bird. She didn't necessarily blame him.

C3P0 scowled back, unaffected. "Honestly, R2, have you ever read the FBI’s regulations on operational driving? When we get back, I'm going to- Oh. Oh my." Apparently, the sight of Han Solo was enough to cause even the loquacious C3PO a temporary loss of words. He stood there gawping, his head twitching in a funny kind of double take. "Mr. Solo!" Confidently he stepped forwards, fussing at the sides of his light grey suit jacket, "You may not recognise me. It's been a long time. It is I, C3P0."

But Han wasn't looking at the man in front of him, chattering away obliviously. He was staring over his shoulder, a tight expression taking over his features. Behind C3PO, a small, but sturdy figure had also left the SUV. Leia stood silently in the dappled shade, staring up at Han with calm, brown eyes.

An idiot could have seen that for the pair of them, the rest of the world had melted away. They were lost in studying the changes time had wrought on the other, the tell-tale signs of the passing of the years. More wrinkles around the eyes, lips thinning, hair at the temples greying. But, my God. She was still so beautiful. After all these years, she was the only one who could make his pulse flutter and his heart ache. Even now, she held herself like a queen, utterly enticing, but so, so far from the level of a crass, dirty scavenger like him.

Finally, C3PO realised his monologue was wholly unwanted and upstaged. Bowing with a funny grace, he stepped to one side, allowing Han and Leia to look at each other directly for the first time in years.

"You changed your hair."

Her eyes creased in a soft not-quite smile, "Same jacket."

"No, new jacket."

And that was all it took. The tentativeness slipped away into the familiar banter. Suddenly Han felt stronger, as though all the cares that had been weighing him down and pushing him to run across countries and states were so much easier to bear. He longed to take her hand, longed to remember what it felt like for it to be just the two of them against the world, young and full of reckless courage.

\---

 _'Give me the burden; give me the blame;_  
_I'll shoulder the load and I'll swallow the shame._  
_Give me the burden, give me the blame;_  
_How many 'Hail Mary's' is it gonna take?'_

\---

The motel room was bland. It was so bland and impersonal Han thought it made magnolia paint look exciting. Just the thought of spending a single night here reminded him why the open road seemed so attractive all those years ago. This was smothering.

He lay stretched out on the hard, unforgiving bed, hands tucked behind his head and thinking over his earlier conversation with Leia.

\---

Together they'd driven to some awful local police station the FBI were using as their base. Leia's beautiful brown eyes were drowning in dark circles and Han could tell the pressure was slowly crushing her. When she thought no one was looking, her shoulders would stoop minutely and her spine curl forwards. She always used to hold herself like royalty. These cases were killing her, he thought angrily. They were literally sucking the life out of her.

The younger kids – Rey, Big Deal, and Dameron – cleared off sharpish. At least they didn't fuss around like C3P0, who couldn't seem to understand that all Han wanted to do was to be left with his not-exactly-wife and talk.

Finally, finally they sat alone in a small back office with no windows, contemplating cups of truly terrible coffee. And after wanting nothing but this moment since he first saw her outside Maz's, Han couldn't think of what to say. Han Solo, the man who could talk himself out of any situation, was lost for words.

Of course, they both ended up opening their mouths at the same time to put a bloody knife awkward silence:

"I need to tell you-"

"Kid said you were lookin' for me-"

They stopped again, tiny smiles quirking up the corner of mouths. They never could sort out how to work together in perfect tandem. Always rough, abrasive. Jarring. It was sort of romantic at first. The bantering, the constant arguments.

But banter wears into the feeling someone is constantly bitching at you. And constant bitching in turn wears down into ugly nagging, which wears down into bland, dull, domesticity. No spark. No romance. No zinging excitement. No feverish tipping between loving and hating.

"Look, Leia," he said at last, gently. "Why don't you tell me what's goin' on around here?"

She paused. Swallowed. Wondered how on earth it had happened that she about to tell her errant husband that the child they had made and loved and nurtured was now considered a serial killer. Then again, Leia Organa had dealt with and initiated plenty of horrible, emotional conversations in her life. What was one more? Just treat it like another job.

"It's about our son."

"Ben?" Han bristled instantly, his entire demeanour changing into something more urgent and alert. "Has someone seen him? Found him?"

"No, no one's found him. Not exactly."

Taking a breath, Leia laid it all out in front of him. Poe's kidnap. The sudden insight into two open cases the FBI had been looking at for months.

Han couldn't process it. Not really. He heard the words, felt a vague echo of emotion. But a revelation like that required time to take on board. It needed you to pick apart your memories. To re-evaluate a person you once held so close, loved so dearly and ask whether the signs were there all along? Did you ever really know that child at all? Were the happy times (because there were some) all lies?

Tough image aside, Han felt sick. It was as though Leia had taken the past from him and left him to question whether every single part of his life Ben touched was infected, poisoned. And the inevitable guilt, of course. Was it his fault, _their_ fault? Ben was a challenging child, but he thought they did their best. Was that actually true? Or were there cries for help, chances to change the future and he and Leia wilfully made themselves blind to?

So Han did the best thing he could for the minute and shut out his emotions. Better to stick with cold, hard facts. "So why am I here?"

"Taking Po- Special Agent Dameron doesn't fit with Ben's profile before. We're not sure if it was something planned or accidental with Dameron in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the concern is that it's triggered something in Ben to start selecting more personal targets."

"Like his family?"

"Yes."

On impulse, Han took her hand over the table. It was warm, the skin still so smooth and soft. Leia's focus had changed though. She was now staring out of the smudged, smeared glass making up part of the door to the tiny office. With her lips pursed into a thin frown, Han immediately recognised that expression.

"Leia-"

She snatched her hand away, "Don't do that!"

"Do what?"

With a growl of frustration, she pushed the chair back and rose suddenly to her feet. "Anything."

Even in this enclosed box, she found space to pace up and down. One, two, three. One, two, three.

"I'm trying to be helpful." (What a joke. Han had never felt more useless in his life.)

"When did that ever work?" She snapped, paused to think about the question, and then continued, "And don't say Mexico."

A tiny smirk crossed Han's face as he remembered the very earliest days of their meeting in the hot streets of Mexico, but that faded as he came back to the present and saw the tortured self-recrimination threatening to overwhelm a woman he could never stop loving. "Listen to me, will you?"

She couldn't even meet his gaze. Han would rather die than admit out loud how much that hurt, "I know every time you look at me, you're reminded of him."

"Do you think I want to forget him? I wanted him back."

"There's nothing more we could have done. He chose this path."

"That's why I wanted him to spend time with Luke - I thought he could be the one to get through to him, to really try and understand Ben. I just never should have pushed him away; that's when I lost you both."

A stab of guilt throbbed in the pit of his stomach, "We both had to deal with it in our own way. I went back to the only thing I was any good at. We both did. We lost our son."

The air felt heavy. Hearing it out loud, forcing the truth out of his mouth felt like swallowing lead. Leia took a shaky step forward, then another, until she hovered just a few centimetres away. Han could feel the heat of her body.

Without another word, she collapsed as he folded her into his chest, "How could we all fail to reach him? You? Me? Luke? How could we have pushed him to use his life like this? I wanted so desperately to believe there is still good in him. That he's spent all this time regretting what he did, but too afraid to come back. Now we know the truth. He's so far into the dark, we've lost him forever."

\---

So that had been one miserable reunion with the woman whose papers requesting a divorce were scrunched up under a table somewhere back in the rough, dirty, grubby flat he kept because damned official paperwork insisted he needed a home address.

He'd tried to sign. He really had. Sat down, pen in hand. He'd just get a few millimetres above what had then been smooth, creamy paper and couldn't see it through. They were just one more of life's clichés in the end, right? Can't live with her, can't live without her. Before he'd left. The arguments. The walls would shake from the ferocity of their shouting.

Those were some dark days. Ben gone. All those fucking bodies. Leia under scrutiny. Even him, although he'd started to distance himself from the Bureau by that point anyway. The golden days of their operations were over. The days when Leia and Luke could stride through a building, demanding resources and achieving some fucking amazing results. The days when he had skills, contacts. The days where his thrill came from walking just this close to the wrong side of the law whilst confident in the knowledge that if he could hold himself back a fraction, he'd win.

He'd disappear for months under cover, blending seamlessly back into smuggling, joining up with criminal gangs moving drugs, weapons, people. Fuck. The things he'd seen. Han wanted a drink. Badly. He could never tell Leia everything. She knew enough. But it wasn't the same. She hadn't been there with him, straining your last nerve to work out whether your cover is blown or if it's time to work out if you can get the hell out before someone puts a bullet in your kneecap and starts asking some un-fucking-comfortable questions.

Han had seen it before. Seen it when they'd got the wrong man.

Kept silent when it should have been him.

He pretended he wasn't a people person, that he wasn't that bothered about casual friendships or losing his marriage and child. But nightmares came nonetheless and he still saw the same innocent faces, screaming and crying and begging in agony. He told himself again and again and again that the collateral was worth the end result.

The reassurance was hollow. He knew that. Leia knew that. Eventually the guilt started to eat them up from the inside. They became empty shells, their souls gnawed away by the constant strain of responsibility for life and failure to guard it.

Maybe what happened to Ben was their fault after all? Maybe he could see what they wouldn't admit, maybe he was the one who swallowed the poison their lies were seeping?

Han sat up suddenly, ignoring the way the room went fuzzy as blood rushed speedily to his brain. This was morbid. This was why he'd avoided seeing Leia for so long, why they acknowledged that they couldn't live together. They were no good for each other. Sure, he'd seen some shit, but they fucking had given something back. Cartels, gangs, wanted criminals. They'd systematically taken them down and then traced the evil back to the next layer.

Shit.

He really needed that fucking drink. What Han really wanted to do was to get stinking drunk and forget that he was currently in some ugly hotel room whilst his old employers readied a sterile flat in the middle of God knows where so that they could monitor his every move and attempt to prevent his estranged son from coming to club him to death.

There comes a point, Han decided, when you seriously need to pause and take a long hard look at where your life choices have led you.

One thing Han was certain of was that there was no alcohol in the room and the keen bean, by-the-book agents who'd driven him and Chewie here wouldn't pause for a second. Han had eventually persuaded one of them to fuck off and find a 24-hour convenience store of some sort, but it had taken a lot of hand-wringing and whinging about welfare and Human Resources policy. Kids these days.

Fuck this. If he couldn't have a drink, he was going to have a bloody cigarette.

With hands just starting to show their age in the form of slightly taut, translucent skin in some places and dry, fragile patches in another, Han withdrew the thin white stick of salvation from a pack in his back pocket. He certainly wasn't a regular smoker, not even a social one – just when things got real bad.

If this didn't qualify as 'real bad', Han was never going to be able to smoke again.

He was about to flick open his lighter, when the no smoking sign lurked into his vision. He was halfway to ignoring it, but then thought of the square, with his neatly parted hair and ridiculous designer glasses. The kid had looked like he was about to cry when Han demanded someone get him liquor or he was walking out himself, damn the consequences.

In a mean way, it had been kinda fun winding him up. He hoped he would come back. After all, everyone needs a hobby, right?

Scowling darkly at the cheap white laminated sign, explaining actions in the case of an emergency, Han padded quietly out of the motel room. Chewie was in the shower. Had been for ages, probably mourning the damage to his best shooting arm. Not that Han was particularly bothered… It would just be nice to think there might be some hot water left later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _The Devil Within_ , Digital Daggers  
>  _Devil's Backbone_ , The Civil Wars


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Hear Him Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your feedback! =)
> 
> I would say this chapter is the start of the darkest part of this fic content-wise, so I've put a couple of extra trigger warnings at the end of the chapter. Always keen to hear what you think!

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Hear Him Cry**

_'Here stands a man_  
_With a bullet in his clenched right hand,_  
_But don't push him, son._  
_He's got the power to crush these lands._  
_Oh hear, hear him cry, boy.'_

\---

Emerging out onto the shabby motel balcony, Han began to reconsider about the hot water. It was so damned humid. Both he and Chewie passed the air-conditioning unit off as pathetic when they first arrived, but shit. Perhaps they ought to give it a bit more credit. Their small double room was at least habitable – and that was including the extra heat given off by two bodies and Chewie's unnecessary steam fest.

He couldn't stay up here. Sweat already beading on his forehead, Han itched to move. They'd told him not to leave, but hadn't been totally specific about which bit not to leave. The room? The floor? The motel? The rules were chaffing at him, nagging incessantly at the back of his mind. He loathed being told what to do and being imprisoned in a doddery bureaucratic structure. That was why he'd always kept one foot in the FBI and one out. His natural reaction to restriction always had been rebellion.

Ridiculous. It wasn't as though he was some sort of untrained civilian. Han had been like that old God Janus for more years that he cared to count – always one face forwards, one back. It wasn't easy staying alive when you made ripping people off part of your key income support. Some of those mugs tended to take the humiliation quite personally.

Snorting, Han paced towards the tiled stairway that would take him down to the parking lot. He could feel just the brush of a breeze on his face – maybe it would be a bit cooler down there where the world was bathed in shadow? He'd just have this one cigarette and head up.

\---

Kylo couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He was currently pressed up against the trunk of a tree, its rough bark scratching at his back. The parking lot of the motel the Feds had taken Solo to was fortunately bordered by some plant beds. By day, these displays looked weedy, dry, and unattractive. At night, they provided useful cover for his monitoring of Solo's new accommodation.

It was going to be difficult. Kylo knew for a fact Solo's big hairy friend was in the room with him. It would severely complicate getting to the old fool without being caught. Memories from his childhood were not often welcome, but he forced himself to consider what he knew about 'uncle' Chewbacca. The man was like his father, an experienced fighter and someone who could sleep with one eye open. That, and he was ridiculously loyal. He'd certainly have to take them both out if he went into the room.

The motel building itself was a squat, sorry affair, made up of three blocks set around the edges of the car park. Each block had two floors only, with the rooms on the first floor reached via a balcony corridor, which ran the length of the buildings. Exposed was the only word Kylo had for it. If the Feds had someone keeping a look out on the entrance to the room (and he'd probably have to take that as a given) there'd be a warning out in no time.

Well, perhaps enough time to dispatch Solo, but not enough for a clean escape.

With a black mask covering the pale white of his skin, Kylo wrestled with the problem, knowing that with every second passed his window of opportunity was diminishing. It had to be tonight.

Then he noticed someone leaving the room. The figure leaned out for a few moments to observe the silent pool of vehicles sleeping below. Kylo hadn't seen his face in person for so many years… but there was no mistaking it.

Incredible. All that worry about how to reach Solo and the imbecile was going to throw a middle finger to all his expensive protection and walk right to him. Kylo's fingers tightened involuntarily around the handle of a large hunting knife tucked into a leather sheath belted around his waist. So close. He could smell the blood already.

\---

_'Lay your weapon down, boy,_  
_Lay your weapon down._  
_You don't know the weight of what you do.'_

\---

The parking lot was almost more oppressive than the tiny motel room. Even this late into the night, the heat was incredible. Han felt as though he was breathing in as much water as he was exhaling. Smoking probably wasn't the thing to help with that, but whatever. The man sighed deeply.

This night was the first look at what his immediate future would become. Tiny houses, no freedom, constant monitoring. Han hated it. Part of the whole reason why he'd- yes, he could admit it to himself. Why he'd turned his back on the Bureau, on Leia and Luke, on the memory of his son.

Han nearly missed the figure slowly striding closer to him against the tarmac, washed out a dirty, dark grey in the dull light of the streetlamps. Clothed in black, it blended so neatly with the natural shadows, it had taken Han a moment to realise this one had peeled away and was starting to approach.

A sensation akin to freezing water rushing down his spine, enveloped him, and fused his feet to the tarmac. He didn't even pause to consider options. Han just knew. He knew without any doubt that the strange apparition walking towards him with the steady, confident stride of a predator was his son. The only glimpse of a human beneath the clothing was a strip of pale skin visible around the eyes. Those eyes were so familiar and so strange at the same time.

Solo shifted, aware that the cigarette was still alight in his hand, which was attached to an arm frozen on its arc upwards to his mouth. He couldn't move any further, though. Couldn't think about shouting or even speaking, his breath was caught in his throat. Han knew he was looking at Death. Death come for him at last, after so many years of relying on his luck, on people who were always better than him, always could be depended upon to do the right thing and save his sorry ass.

Now Death looked at him with Ben's eyes and there sure as hell was no pity there. He took a reflexive step backwards, assailed by the memory of the first time he'd heard Ben's laugh as a baby. The gaze flashed and Ben's hand slowly and deliberately moved to rest on the handle of a wicked-looking knife. Now Han saw the first time Ben smiled, remembered how he'd been curled up on a wide sofa with Leia at the time – a rare scene of domesticity for them.

The blade was jagged and a cold silver. Han wasn't armed. He carried, of course, but his gun was upstairs and a fat lot of good. Even if he'd brought it though, could he do it? Could he look at Ben's face, lost for so long, and pull that trigger?

Ben was less than a metre away now, towering over his estranged father. Had he been that tall when he left or found an extra foot somewhere along the way? Han couldn't remember. But he could recall vividly the first time Ben tried to ride a bike without stabilisers, fell, and ran screaming to him with bleeding knees and elbows. Sobbing, his little boy had pressed his face into his father's shirt, as though he believed Han could take the pain away if he held tightly enough.

Once, he'd been able to curl his arms around his son's shoulders.

Han's mind was spinning. It couldn't cope, couldn't equate the son with the mass murderer before him. What happened? The question spun around, twisting his insides up into a roiling mass of guilt. He'd not always been the most devoted father, part of his mind always twitching, always open to the next opportunity, the next whiff of adventure. Had this darkness been in Ben since birth? Or had it been instilled by the wrongs of the father? It didn't matter now. The damage was done and time to pay the price.

"Ben."

"Han Solo. I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

The tone was strangely formal, belonging to a stranger. Han's heart shuddered treacherously, "Take off that mask. You don'’t need it." I know exactly who you are, he wanted to say. Couldn't quite dare though. Did he really know Ben? Did he ever imagine that he would nurture and protect the boy who would eventually kill him?

"What do you think you'll see if I do?" Ben taunted him. That he'd learnt how to try as a teenager, rebelling and twisting both his parents into torturous circles of logic until he could draw out whatever fault – real or imagined – he wanted from them. _Murderer_ was what he wanted Han to say. _Monster._

Han refused to rise. Perhaps, just perhaps there might be a chance after all this time, "The face of my son." He won't disown Ben, whether that meant attempting to work out if anything approaching love remained between them or whether to accept the responsibility that he had played a part in influencing Ben to this point.

"Your son is gone. He was weak and foolish, like his father. So I destroyed him."

Contempt laced Ben's tone, but the line sounds rehearsed, a platitude compared to some of Ben's more passionate declarations.

"That's what you want the world to believe, but _you_ know it's not true. My son is alive; you can't just destroy a part of you."

Ben shook his head, "It's too late." Han couldn't tell which of them he was trying to convince more.

"No, it's not. Make a choice. Leave here with me." The words 'come home' and 'we miss you' lingered on his lips, tinged his tone with a softness and regret. Han would so desperately like to indulge in a fantasy where they can welcome Ben home and enjoy some semblance of a family life, but Ben had so many crimes to answer for now.

As if reading his mind, Ben laughed harshly, "Come with you? And accept that I'll spend the rest of my life in prison – or worse? It's not much of an incentive. No, I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it. Will you help me?"

And all at once, Ben was a little boy again, tugging on Han's sleeve for help with his first pieces of homework. A sweet and unusual moment for a child that had always tended towards privacy and secrecy. Han staggered closer, cigarette falling forgotten from his fingers, "Yes. Anything." Oh, God. He meant it. He wanted so desperately to mend his family, to offer Leia a reprieve from years of grieving and labouring.

With a shaking hand, Ben withdrew the knife from its peculiar holster. The man extended his arm, as though to offer the weapon to his father. Amazed that Ben appeared to have listened, that he might be willing to disarm and talk, Han forgot about the danger and came closer. He had his hands open, unsure whether this was to accept the weapon or at the prospect of potentially being able to touch his son after so many years.

Ben watched him carefully through hooded dark eyes. Han missed the seconds of calculation, the tight and cold compress of the lips. Once he was satisfied with the proximity, Ben lashed out with the speed of a practised hunter.

The blade sank deep into Han's stomach, scraping and puncturing muscles, organs, and blood vessels. Using his right hand to control the knife, Ben pressed his left over his father's mouth to muffle the screams. He didn't want to draw any unwanted attention and spoil a moment he had dreamed about for so many years.

Han's eyes were open wide, the whites stretched and distorted. He whimpered against Ben's palm, unable to process the pain and destruction being wrought upon his body. If Ren had expected a fight, none appeared. Instead, his father brought one his own hands up to press gently against the one resting on his face.

The compassionate gesture frustrated Kylo. With a snarl, he extracted the blade. The serrated edges were designed to cause even more pain and damage on the way out, hooking and distorting intestines and whatever else lay in its path. Han moaned, stumbling forwards to almost collapse against Kylo. The movement was self-destructive, almost walking him back onto the knife.

Ren was already sure the wound was mortal, but thrust the knife back once more. Blood poured from the gaping wound, hot and dark it pulsed and gradually stained his father's creased shirt. Han's eyes were growing glassy. Experience told Kylo it wouldn't be long before the man slipped from this world. Content his father was watching him and could still hear, Kylo leaned forward to whisper, "Thank you."

Still, he waited for disgust and for rejection, for some sense of the ultimate betrayal he'd just committed. Instead he saw nothing but compassion, a gentle expression of wonder as Han stared at his newly revealed face. It made Kylo feel self-conscious and undeserving – the very emotions that had driven him to this course! How dare he?!

Kylo wanted to rage, but he became aware that the weight of Han's body against him had suddenly increased. Han collapsed forwards, a final gasp and gurgle the last sounds of life leaving him. With some difficulty, Ren lowered the body to the floor.

He felt… He felt…

Empty.

After all his conversations with Hux about the euphoric sense of relief he experienced upon realising he'd finally outmatched his horrific father, Kylo had been waiting for something similar. No, he'd been desperate to experience that same high he'd known at the slaughter in Quantico and after when he set out on his own to break the rules imposed by society and explore his strength.

Now the blood was literally pooling at his feet. And he felt weaker than ever, lost and alone. If he'd ever, in his bleakest moments, entertained a fantasy about returning to his family… He stared down at his father's awkwardly slumped corpse; he'd truly lost that forever now.

\---

The night was sweltering. It was the type of evening Rey would remember for the rest of her life, sure that it had indelibly change the whole course of her future in a call over the radio and a frantic drive to a dingy hotel outside another rundown industrial town in the South.

She'd been in the car with Finn, driving him back to his temporary apartment after they'd all been told to call it a night by Assistant Director Organa. Rey kept the radio on out of habit, even though she was long since off duty and had now been awake so many hours, she'd doubt her own capacity to act cogently.

Beside her in the darkness of the car, Finn was barely able to supress his yawns. He turned from her or pressed a large hand over his mouth every other minute. A strange pang of sympathy passed through Rey. She was still an outsider, a witness to their struggle to solve these terrible cases, but she felt for them all. Stretched to the limit and exhausted.

The girl couldn't deny, however, that meeting all these new people and witnessing a different world wasn't stirring her curiosity, an appetite to test her own skills and have them measured. Could she do that? Be there one day as an Agent, rather than just a girl in a uniform drafted in to perform more menial duties? She'd be willing to bet she could out drive almost all of them already.

Rey was lost in thought and consequently missed the first sign that something was amiss. It was Finn who lurched forwards in alarm, frantically seeking the right button to turn the volume up.

Without a word, she pushed his hand aside, " _Control, this is 754. Urgent update on our last assigned."_ Rey couldn't put a face to the speaker, but you could tell he was shaken, struggling to speak clearly.

_"Go ahead, 754."_

_"Uh, we're uh- we're going to need- More units on a Code 3 down here."_

_"You broke up at the end 754. Go ahead again, please."_

_"Fuck. Yeah. I got a 10-35,"_ Rey frowned, must be a relative old timer. She was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be using Ten Codes anymore. " _Look, I got four DOA. Okay? We need back up. And can someone call on a private phone?"_

"Shit."

Finn stared at her, his tired eyes bleary. "I didn't understand a word of that. What's going on."

"754 were responding to an alarm triggering an automatic call out."

"And?"

"The alarm was at the Mayor Hosnian's house. They've just found the Mayor's family dead. Sometimes I think people can listen in to the frequency we use, so I guess he was using cop speak to try and buy time before this leaks out."

"The _Mayor?"_

Rey shrugged, but couldn't take her eyes off the road. A horrible feeling was stirring in her guts. "It could be anything, right? Accident? A domestic incident?"

She gazed ahead, unable to find it within herself to offer any kind of reassurance. Another option was staring them in the face. Neither of them appeared to be able to give the thought voice. _Murder._ And not just murder, the brazen slaughter of a high profile public official, his wife, and two young daughters. They'd both been around two of the FBI's most critical murder investigations too long not to see what was staring them in the face. Finn must certainly have been following her train of thought because the next thing he said was, "Do you think we’d better check on Solo?"

Relieved that she wouldn't have to explain her strange feelings that something was definitely _not right_ , Rey nodded. Glancing at her with dark eyes, Finn continued, "Maybe we better put the lights on?"

Wordlessly, Rey reached forward and flicked another switch. Voices flittered across the radio with frenetic urgency, as the already stretched local police force attempted to find enough resources to cover this new emergency. The world was suddenly bathed in an alien blue light. More used to Rey's unique style of driving this time, Finn was already braced and clutching on to the door handle for dear life.

He counted it a small personal victory that he didn't even flinch when she slammed her foot down on the accelerator.

\---

They arrived in time to see Han Solo a crumpled heap on the floor with a dark figure looming over him. Finn's eyes widened, realising he and Rey were seeing – albeit from some distance – the man who so many were hunting for. It was almost surreal to be faced with the reality of an actual person, a really fucking tall, broad, physically intimidating actual person.

Their attention was drawn without warning to an animalistic cry from one of the balconies. They both looked up in tandem to see a distraught Chewie gazing down at the violent scene with one eye, whilst he used the other sight down the arrow of his crossbow.

What the hell? That thing was still useable?

Finn didn't have time to worry about the morality of whether they needed to warn a murderer that he was about to get shot. Ren heard Chewbacca's cry as well and was already half way to the edge of the parking lot. But it turned out that Chewie was no mean hunter himself.

Kylo had already disappeared into the shadows of the unlit driveway leading up to the motel, but all three of them heard his muffled cry when Chewie's bolt hit home. From the general height and Kylo's movement in between the start and end of the shot, Rey thought it might have grazed the middle of his body – maybe the bottom of his ribs or even his side. She glanced at Finn, both knowing they had to overcome their frozen limbs and attempt some form of pursuit.

Nodding, Finn withdrew his gun. Waving to Chewie, Rey called up, "We'll follow him! Can you look after Han? Get some back up!"

Chewie's only response was a low, mournful moan, but they could see him half running towards the stairs leading down and a mobile telephone pressed to his ear.

\---

Kylo ran until his lungs literally felt as though they were on fire. His left side hurt like a bitch and he was terrified he was leaving a trail of blood that could easily be followed. He needed to get away, contact Hux securely, and rendezvous so they could both get the fuck out of this shithole of a town.

Now that the initial disappointment was fading, Kylo could feel the licking of flames of anger. Had Hux deliberately lied to him? Goaded him into believing this was the only option? Tricked him about how good it would feel?

His mind raced, even as he pulled a burner mobile out of his pocket and punched in a few letters of their code agreed beforehand. Yet his mind still felt as though it was back in the grounds of that motel, feverishly analysing every detail of the moments before and after Solo's death. Every moment, including the arrival of those two cops. Well, one looked like a local cop and the other must have been a Fed.

The man looked faintly terrified, but the girl. Oh, her eyes blazed with an energy that made Kylo feel starved for company. Sometimes, it wasn't the easiest thing knowing that Hux was his only companion in the world. She looked sharp and hungry all at once and Kylo knew instantly she wasn't satisfied with her lot in life, that she understood the thrill of the hunt and how it could make every sense in your body sing.

With her strong cheekbones and striking braided hair, he felt an immediate kinship between them. As though, she might be one of the very few who could empathise with his hunger for power and the warring forces in his mind that had driven him to this point.

He'd seen her for a few seconds, but that was enough. Despite the agonising pain in his side and the strange emotional emptiness that had followed his father's demise, Kylo was _fascinated_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _The War_ , SYML  
>  _Lay Your Weapon Down_ , Tim Miser
> 
> **Trigger Warnings:** Han's murder is covered in this chapter, so extra warnings for violence. There is also the mention of a murder of a family, including two minors, but there is no more detailed description.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: A Dangerous Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back. =)
> 
> In terms of warnings, I would say this chapter probably has the most distressing crime scene description of the whole fic, including reference to the deaths of children. However, I've aimed for it to be on a level with TV series like Criminal Minds, so it's not gratuitous.
> 
> I would also say from this section, we deviate slightly from canon, but hopefully the vibe of TFA will still come through.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**A Dangerous Man**

_'They say I'm a dangerous man,_  
_Better run fast as you can._  
_Don't you look back;_  
_Every bone in my body's bad.'_

\---

Poe never felt so close to throwing up at a crime scene as he had tonight. He stood outside, bathed in the flashing blue lights of numerous cop cars and the odd pale blast of a press photographer's bulb. Cold sweat collected on his forehead and he pressed a shaking hand firmly to his mouth, muttering phrases of self-encouragement against his palm.

They'd known the Starkiller was twisted and merciless – but this. The cruelty left him speechless. Poe literally didn't have the words to explain how one human being could even imagine doing that to another human body. He already knew their profilers were going to have a field day. Poe didn't need a psychology qualification to understand this represented an evolution.

The man, this murderer, was taunting them. This was a message. A little wave to say, 'Look what I can do. You couldn't save them and you can't stop me from doing it again.'

Aware that he was still visible to groups of civilians congregating at the yellow tape marking the edge of the crime scene, Poe stumbled around the corner of the house. It was a beautiful building – looked Victorian in style, with rampant creepers scaling the brickwork all the way up to the roof. The whole street was stunning, calm and tranquil, speaking of wealth and influence. All that money and power couldn't offer protection though.

Yeah, it was a fucking nice house. It ought to be. Belonged to the mayor. Shit. Poe couldn't even think about this without it feeling so completely wrong. How brazen was this bastard? And then a tiny finger of fear, a small voice that said, 'And you were so close to him. He's hunting you. They're _both_ hunting.' No. The slim man shook his head. That was his ego speaking. The whole jacket display had just been them getting rid of an awkward piece of evidence and make a statement at the same time. Just messing with his head. Clearly, the Starkiller was targeting more challenging prey.

Poe leant himself against the rough, cool brick. He knew Leia was waiting for him. They'd all heard the call on the radio about the burglar alarm going off at Mayor Hosnian's house, but that it would end up like this? Unthinkable. Leia was currently sitting in one of their black SUVs around the front of the house, probably fielding about a million telephone calls from seniors back in Washington and Quantico. They were so fucked. If the scrutiny and press were bad before… They'd never have a moment's peace now until these two monsters were found.

And maybe that was right.

Maybe they didn't deserve peace. It was hard to fight the feeling that he might as well have placed the pillow over the heads of those two little girls himself. Poe pressed a hand to his mouth again. He wouldn't cry, he couldn't. At least he'd been there in time to hear the coroner give a rough assessment that the bodies of the children had been mutilated _after_ they died.

Aware that he needed to pull himself together so that he could update Leia, Poe straightened up. He was about to walk back around the front of the house and into the unforgiving eye of TV cameras when his mobile buzzed insistently in his pocket.

Frowning, Poe fished the small device out and peered at the Caller ID.

"Hey, Finn. What's up, buddy?"

Just play it cool. Finn didn't need tainting by this as well.

Whatever Poe was expecting, Finn's panicked, breathy voice wasn't it, "Poe! Poe. Shit. Um. Listen, Rey and I are with Chewie at the motel. We're waiting for an ambulance with Chewie."

"An ambulance? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Horror bubbled in Poe's stomach. Not Finn. He couldn't bear to see him suffer any more because of these cases.

"N-no. It's not for us. It's – uh – It's Mr Solo. I mean, Han."

"Finn. You need to just tell me what's happened."

"He's dead." Poe stumbled backwards like he'd been punched in the jaw. "Kylo Ren. Whatever he calls himself. He knew he was here and he stabbed him. In the stomach. He was dead before Rey and I got here. Nothing anyone could do."

By now, Poe had a hand pressed over his eyes. He couldn't think. Hadn't the murder scene tonight been enough? To add to his nightmares, there were now images of Ben – of that striking young man – gutting his own father in cold blood. Oh God. _Leia_. What would this do to her? She was already at breaking point with the strain of Ben's past. Her relationship with Han was often tempestuous, but Poe had the strong impression they never, ever stopped caring about each other. Even in the brief hours the pair had been reunited today, Poe noticed the slightest spring in Leia's step that hadn't been there before.

"Poe? Poe – are you still there?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'm here. I take it you and Rey have called this in? Sealed off the area?"

"Um, Rey's been awesome. We had a squad car, so the tape was there. Ren was still on scene when we got here. Tried to call it in, but he went off road and there wasn't any signal. It was too dangerous to carry on without help."

Poe could hear the hopeful uplift in Finn's voice. He understood why. They'd come so close to Kylo Ren, the potential for capture had been there. They'd _seen_ him. Finn needed Poe to tell him that it was okay they'd lost him, that he'd made the right call in the field.

For what it was worth, Poe had total conviction the two would have acted with excellent judgement. And he told Finn so without hesitation. "Do not blame yourself for anything that happens after. You did your best. You were in unfamiliar terrain with no communication and no backup. He could have been hiding in there and killed one or both of you. Our duty is to preserve life and that includes your own."

Finn still sounded shaky when he replied, "Thanks, Poe. Listen- I think some of your team are arriving. I probably gotta go. Um. Chewie's pretty inconsolable. Would you- Someone probably needs to tell the General, I mean- Assistant Director Organa about… this."

"Ahead of you. Don't worry about that. I needed to see Leia about another thing, so I can tell her quietly before she hears it another way."

"Okay. I'll see you later?"

"Of course." Poe even rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug, hoping that acting the part of confident, controlled colleague would help him sound more convincing to Finn. "Thanks for the call. It's better that this comes from us."

\---

People often said that good or bad events came in sets of three. Poe should have known that life wasn't quite finished fucking him over that late August evening. He ended the call with a vicious stab at his touchscreen. After he'd left the house, there had been horror, disgust, sickness. But at least there had been _feelings_. After Finn's call, he felt numb. Han Solo's antics were well-known anecdotes bandied around at the Bureau. Shit. Poe had even taught some of them in case studies when he'd worked as a trainer.

After Leia's revelation several weeks ago and the phone call with his father, Poe realised how naïve he'd been not to put the pieces together sooner. Perhaps naïve was the wrong word, perhaps Poe just hadn't wanted to think about Leia that way, needed to believe that his new job was a truly fresh start. When he'd truthfully broken it down, Poe realised that no one could have kept the truth from him – Leia, Han, Luke – the connection between all three of them was no secret and they each had been openly lauded and celebrated... Until Quantico.

His tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth. They were supposed to protect Han – supposed to have taken up that mantle and shown a new generation could take forwards the lessons taught by others. His location was meant to be a locked down secret, _need to know_ only. They'd been sure to follow protocol to the letter.

Choking down a couple more breaths, Poe glanced a look up at the night sky. Even that held no comfort these days. All he could see were the stars and when he saw them, he remembered every single victim slaughtered by the 'Starkiller' and laid out in some obnoxious tableaux.

The soft, cultured voice slipping through the dark garden caught him completely off guard. "What a distressing scene inside. I've never seen anything like it."

Poe closed his eyes in exhausted resignation. It couldn't be. Not now. If he didn't turn around, ignored it, maybe the speaker would just vanish back into the gloom.

"I have to admit, my memory for mythology is a little poor. I can't quite understand which constellation was selected for this occasion."

No such luck. He was still there. Poe thought he was in danger of hyperventilating. Just turn around, he told himself. Just turn around with your chin held high and face him head on. We're years away from the last meeting, he's surely changed. An older man lounged against the same spot of wall Poe had used for support just minutes ago. His grey hair was receding noticeably on either side of his forehead, leaving only a groomed section in the middle. His face was dominated by an immaculate black pencil moustache and a striking scar, which sliced cleanly through his right eyebrow.

He'd barely changed since Poe last set eyes on him in Quantico. Looked older, of course. But they all did now.

"Special Agent Terex," Poe acknowledged stiffly. "I wasn't aware you were working on this case."

"Posted down this morning. Just in time, it seems. I've brought some of my team with me. I'm sure you'll be grateful for all the help you can get." Terex spoke in sentences that should have been polite at best, factual if nothing else. However, he tended to introduce an infuriating, obnoxious sarcastic drawl to most of his phrases. It was a habit Poe couldn't stand. Instantly he remembered part of the reason why he found this man's presence so odious.

Poe didn't want to be dealing with this right now. His most important task was to speak to Leia before she heard this horrible news from any other source. Flicking a quick glance up at Terex's tall figure, Poe shrugged and started taking purposeful strides back towards the front of the house. There was plenty of room to circumvent the unwelcome addition to his night and make sure the man couldn't impede his progress. Talking back over his shoulder, Poe murmured blandly, "Sure. All hands on deck and whatever."

Terex was clearly unimpressed at the abrupt dismissal, forced to trail in Poe's wake to keep any chance of continuing the conversation.

But Poe was done with this. He could see Leia, sitting silently on the backseat of the SUV. She had the door open and was gazing at Hosnian's home with large, mournful eyes. The downturn of her mouth and the stillness was unnatural. He'd never seen her look so deflated. It could be the thought of the horrific crime scene hidden inside the house, but part of Poe offered, 'She knows. She has a sense that something has gone horribly wrong.'

Fancy, of course. Neither Poe nor Leia put much stock in premonitions or sixth sense type of sensations. "I've got to update Assistant Director Organa, Terex. I'm sure I'll see you around." Unwilling to risk Terex attempting to follow any further, Poe set off at a small jog, pausing only to call over his shoulder, "I think the constellation is meant to be Hercules. It represents him at the point when he killed his entire first family after being driven mad by Hera, Queen of the Gods."

\---

_'Bad, bad news;_  
_One of us is going to lose;_  
_I'm the powder;_  
_You're the fuse._  
_Just add some friction.'_

\---

The days following the murders of Han Solo and the entire Hosnian family were a misery and, retrospectively, reduced to a blissful blur in Poe's memory. There were photographs of the crime scene tagged to a large white board and sometimes Poe thought those images must be engrained onto the insides of his eyelids because he saw them everywhere - at work, in his tiny serviced apartment, out walking BB-8.

Even when he had the opportunity to grab a couple of hours sleep, Poe couldn't stop seeing the twisted bodies. Two little girls, flopping out of their beds. He couldn't stop seeing the puddles of blood blossoming wider and wider on the pale cream carpets. In the early hours of the morning when he was tossing and turning, Poe supposed he ought to take some comfort that the children were dead before their throats were slashed open. He found himself praying they hadn't suffered much, hadn't had time to be so, so afraid.

Hosnian's wife hadn't been offered such meagre consideration. It looked as though the Starkiller had taken a leaf out of Kylo's book for that one. The woman's features were barely recognisable – the current theory that she had been beaten to death with a large wooden club-type object. That theory was affirmed when the weapon was found propped up next to Mayor Hosnian himself. The man had almost certainly died last. His body was found on the floor, propped into a sitting position against the wall. He'd been drugged to prevent any resistance, presumably forced to watch what happened to his wife and then his wrists were slashed. The heavy wooden cudgel used to kill his wife placed innocently next to him, centimetres from his outstretched hand.

The allegory wasn't as neat as previous murders carried out by the Starkiller. A Classics expert quickly pointed out that Hercules didn't kill himself after the murder of his first family, but rather used it as a catalyst to set him off on the path of his most famous adventures. Poe felt the Starkiller was just using what suited him to make a point.

The Mayor had been openly supportive of the Bureau's presence in the town, using local media to encourage residents to speak with them frankly. He'd taken an active (and understandable) interest in the progress of the investigation, but was also quick to point out when he felt not enough was being done to protect the inhabitants of the local area he looked after.

There was no way his family died randomly. The killer knew exactly what statements he wanted to make. _I will slaughter those who oppose me_ and _No one is safe. Not even rich public officials can hide away._ Poe felt sick with anger that three additional innocents – his wife and children – were viewed as expendable collateral as well in this macabre message.

The joint killing with Kylo – Ben – was another new feature, an evolution in their relationship. Perhaps, Poe mused in the backroom office that had been designated an unofficial quiet room, they could try to pull something less… bleak from all of this. The pair's actions had been audacious and the more over-confident and reliant they became on these complex statement pieces – the higher chance of a mistake being made.

You only had to consider the fact that Finn and Rey had seen Ren. They'd been close enough to attempt to pursue him. All they needed was one break – a location, a phone or a laptop, a clue to the identity of the Starkiller – and then they could begin to pick apart this superiority these brutal murderers were lauding so brazenly over the men and women hunting them.

The door to the small office opened with a quiet snick, drawing Poe from his melancholy review of the evening's events. When he glanced up, his visitor did little to improve his mood. Smoothing the frown from his face as best he could, Poe nodded, "Special Agent Terex."

"Always so formal, Dameron? I was curious as to where you'd slipped off to." Any curiosity this man held over his whereabouts did not bode well or signal a concern for his welfare.

"Is someone looking for me?"

"Oh, no. Not unless you count me."

Poe bit back the easy retorts that sprang to his lips. He wouldn't give this man the satisfaction.

"We didn't have chance for a real catch up earlier." Terex's cold eyes slipped over Poe's face, noting the obvious disapproval. "Of course, such terrible circumstances are not the place for two old friends to talk over years passed."

'I wouldn't call you a friend,' Poe desperately wanted to say. Instead he stood up, not realising he had instinctively drawn the files he held over his chest and stomach. Protective. Terex didn't miss the gesture, scenting even the tiniest hint of weakness like a drop of blood in the water.

He took a step closer. And another. Terex didn't miss the quick dart of Poe's eyes around the room, as he reassessed his exit options. 'Limited,' the older man could have offered with a sneer for free. The room was bare: chair, large desk, and a filing cabinet made from cold steely grey. No windows, not even internal ones to allow a smidgen of natural light into the otherwise airless box. There was no doubt Poe could feel a tiny hint of claustrophobia creeping in.

He'd crawled in here because it offered a fraction of protection from the horrific events plastered to the boards outside. Too bad some nightmares were more cunning at picking up the scent of their quarry.

Terex took another step forwards, admiring the measured way Poe was manoeuvring himself around one side of the desk in a painfully obvious attempt to be closer to the door. "I hoped," the man continued, his cold gaze settling in an uncomfortably intense stare on the fluttering of Poe's Adam’s apple. "I hoped that we could go for a drink together. I'd like to hear what you've been up to."

Realising there was little his could do in the way of tactical retreat, Poe squared his shoulders and turned to face the man straight on. It was a shame he didn't realise these flashes of bravado and fighting spirit were what attracted people to him in the first place. Usually for all the wrong reasons. "I don't think that's a good idea. And even if it was, we're working two serial cases. This is no time to be hitting bars."

"Just a quick one. You and I are both on a mandatory rest shift. The motel they've stuffed me into is pretty crappy, but there's no issue with the bar."

A dark eyebrow rose in a critical arch, "You’re suggesting I come back to your motel?"

Terex shrugged loosely, "For a drink." A filthy smirk briefly sparked across his lips, saying so much more.

Nausea rose within Poe's stomach. Did this guy never learn? What the fuck was it about him that guys just couldn't understand 'no' literally meant 'no fucking way, asshole'. "How's your wife doing these days?" Terex ignored the pointed sweep Poe's brown eyes made down to his wedding ring.

"Not that it's any of your concern, but we find these periods of separation can sometimes be… liberating. A chance to recover our own space and sense of self, if you will."

Poe was so done with this conversation. He couldn't seriously believe that Terex thought he would crawl willingly to some dingy motel room to be a piece of ass on the side? "Delightful. If I _am_ on a rest shift, I need to be off actually away from this case and everyone working on it. I have BB-8 with me and a duty of care."

Not intending to speak another word, Poe abandoned the worst of his fears (was Terex really going to risk his job by physically lunging for him here? Almost certainly not.) and pushed past the man towards the door. His fingers were just wrapping around the handle when that icy voice cut across the silent room again, "I do wish you'd reconsider." There was something new in the tone, something implicit – a hint of what felt horribly like a threat.

The hairs rose on the back of his neck, but Poe refused to turn around. "I've told you I'm not interested."

"Such a shame. You put me in a rather awkward position."

"I have nothing more to say." Wrenching the door wide open and welcoming in the bustle from the main floor, Poe told himself that it was impossible Terex could have anything to hold over him. He had no secrets, nothing to hide, no undeclared misdemeanours. He had to be bluffing.

"Well, you can let me know anytime if you change your mind. It might happen sooner than you think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Dangerous Man_ , Little Dume  
>  _Strange Addiction_ , Billie Eilish


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Stabs At Your Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New week, new chapter. Clearly as I was writing this, I felt there just wasn't enough angst to go around. =/
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your lovely feedback. =)

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Stabs At Your Back**

_'Contemplating taking stabs at your back, but I don't need to,_  
_'Cause I got what they all want._  
_I've been the one to make 'em nervous,_  
_Make 'em question all the work they've done.'_

\---

Poe clutched a thin paper cup of coffee like a lifeline the next morning. He'd slept poorly, his dreams a fitful mess of bloody limbs, the voices of young children, and Terex's knowing smirk. Truth be told, Poe was mostly just frustrated with himself. He couldn't clear his own head and ruined his only valuable opportunity for rest.

Shouldering his way through a few sets of double doors, Poe entered the main room they were using for large briefings and where the desks for most of the team were set up. Immediately, something about the atmosphere didn't feel right. It was much too quiet for a time in the morning when his colleagues were normally bustling around with mouths stuffed full of breakfast pastries and muttering bleary-eyed 'good mornings'. He glanced automatically over to the board where the photographs of the latest crime scene had been posted. Terex was standing there, a small group clustering around him. Poe's eyes narrowed. That was odd. Terex was due back on duty the same time as him, which meant he'd deliberately arrived early. Somehow Poe doubted that was out of a great devotion to his job.

None of the group had noticed Poe's arrival. It took the man a moment to realise Terex was speaking in a low voice, so low Poe couldn't hear a word. His audience was clearly rapt, until one of them sprang backwards and practically shouted in disgust, "What the fuck, man? You think you can swan in here and chuck around wild accusations like that? What the _fuck_?"

Poe blinked in confusion, suddenly realising that Snap had been amongst the group. A quick scan also picked out Jess's dark ponytail. He fought off the slightly twinge of betrayal that his closest friends were apparently willing to hang off the words of a man like Terex. Fed up that no one had still realised he was in the room, Poe cleared his throat in a dramatically loud fashion, "Is there a problem here?"

The guilty way a dozen sets of eyes swivelled in his direction would have been comical, if it hadn't made Poe feel extremely awkward - like some sort of queer specimen that had been set out to be gawped at. They just kept looking, letting the silence fester. But Poe was no wilting flower. Whatever was going on, he'd face it like he always did: with wide smile and an extra dose of bravado. "I mean, yeah. I thought I looked pretty sharp this morning as well." He grinned at the group, a full beam of pure, fake confidence.

All but swaggering over to the desk he'd been sitting at most regularly, Poe shrugged, "Seriously though. Someone want to tell me what's going on? We got another body?"

It was Jess eventually that cracked. Although from the barely concealed expression of rage on her features, Poe thought 'cracked' was probably the wrong description. 'Combusted' felt like a more appropriate term. "You should leave."

Poe's eyes widened, until he realised Jessika was glowering at Terex. The man still stood confident, spine ramrod straight after years and years of military training. At her words, his face dropped its blank expression. Lips twisted into a smirk, he murmured, "No. I don't think so, Jessika."

"That's Special Agent _Pava_ , to you. Bastard."

"Quite. However, I haven't finished speaking. Although perhaps now Special Agent Dameron has elected to join us, I should catch him up quickly on what he's missed."

Jessika's fists curled in balls and Poe began to grow more seriously alarmed. She wasn't faking this. Terex had seriously pissed her off. A quick glance over at Snap told Poe a similar story, although Snap was doing a better job at hiding his emotions.

"You see, Dameron. My guys and I have been brought down to this sorry, shithole of a town to give your flabby investigation a little fresh insight, impetus. My general impression so far is that you all seem rather relaxed about your increasing body count, but I suppose that's by the by. _Anyway_. I've been pondering the conundrum of Han Solo."

False sympathy. Han's name sounded wrong in Terex's slimy mouth. "The location of Solo's location was _supposed_ to be a secret, of course. So, a reasonable theory is that someone must have tipped off Kylo Ren. Someone with an insider's access. Ridiculous, of course. No one would do that, I'm sure. You're all so devoted to his grieving widow."

His empty gaze met Poe's across the room. It was the first time Poe realised that the scar across Terex's eye adds to an already extant aura of danger around him. Poe never asked what he did in the military. Suddenly he wondered whether Terex spent a significant portion of his life training to become a cold-blooded killer.

"Then it occurred to me there was one other person whose connection to the Solo family extends beyond Leia Organa. Again, ridiculous. This one person has been abducted by the same killer and tortured. He's barely escaped with his life and has taken months to lose the cast on his damaged arm. Or so he _claims_. But the more I start to think about it, the more convenient it feels. Especially when you take into consideration this is the _second_ time this so-called Kylo Ren has allowed Special Agent Dameron a reprieve from an early death."

The room was swimming in front of Poe's eyes. He could hear Terex's words and the meaning was registering, but it wasn't at the same time. He understood the implication, didn't need to tune into the detail for that. Terex was accusing him, in a room full of colleagues who had to believe they could trust Poe with their lives, that he was complicit in all Kylo Ren's murders. And presumably the Starkiller's as well, given their new understanding that the two were working together.

He stumbled backwards a step, coffee cup shaking involuntarily in a grip that felt slick with sweat. He looked from face to face, desperately seeking signs that none of the team believed what Terex was spouting. Or did belief even matter? Was it enough to sow the smallest seed of mistrust? Was the damage already done?

"I swear, Terex. If you don't shut the fuck up-" Jessika had started towards him, her clenched knuckles white with fury.

Snap reacted quicker than Poe could have hoped to, intercepting her path and raising his hands up in front of his chest in a calming gesture. "Jess. That's not going to help. Don't give him the satisfaction. Everyone knows he's talking a pile of crap." Was it Poe's mind, or would he have liked Snap's denial to be stronger, 'crap' felt like such a weak push back...

"Do you, though? Have you got categorical, evidential standards of proof that he's not involved?"

"I could ask you the same damn question," Jessika snarled over Snap's slim shoulder, barrelling into his hands and not caring that he was forced to hold her back. "You think you can try and ruin someone's career with some circumstantial conspiracy theory? It was Poe getting God damned kidnapped and nearly _dying_ that gave us the start of a lead into this mess."

With his hands spread wide, Terex smirked, "Who can say? Maybe your kindergarten level investigation wasn't enough of a challenge for such a sophisticated group of killers."

"Okay. Fuck this." Yanking her arms down to her sides, Jess took one last look at Snap before shoving him to the side. Poe, who had put his coffee down and was carefully inching closer to his raging colleague, realised instantly Jessika was serious. Unwilling to let her damage her career and otherwise perfect record for him, Poe lunged for the back of her shirt.

Even Terex's cool grey eyes went a little wide when he saw Jess breaking free from Snap's control. He faltered backwards a step, but it was enough to get his feet into a tangle around the edge of one of the portable white boards they'd wheeled into the main briefing room. Predictably, the wheels offered Terex's large figure no support, slipping backwards and sending him careening off balance. The next thing – and Poe wasn't entirely sure how this happened – the board toppled to the floor with an almighty crash.

He winced. Fortunately, the effect was enough for Jess to get her red mist under control. She ceased fighting against the strong grip Poe had around her biceps and started listening to Snap's soothing words.

Unfortunately, the racket of the board collapsing and subsequent cries of shock had attracted the attention of their management. The door to the room slammed open and Ackbar raced in, his strangely wide nostrils flaring in unmistakable anger. "What the hell is going on in here?" He took one look at the board, at Terex in a strangely ungraceful heap on the floor, before turning to the rest of the room. "Anyone want to explain? You were all making enough noise a second ago."

Knowing the worst of the crisis was over, Poe released Jessika. He gave her a grateful pat on the shoulder, before turning away and tugging a hand nervously through his thick dark hair. Jessika's face was still white with fury. Her unquestioning trust in him would have been so damn touching in any other situation, but right at that moment, Poe couldn't bear to look at his friends. His life was about to come crashing down and there was no way to stop it.

Jess glanced around the room with fierce eyes, waiting to see if anyone was going to have the balls to speak up. When no one moved, her mouth twisted in disgust. "You're all so spineless. That man-" she pointed at Terex who was in the process of pulling himself to his feet, "has been throwing around baseless accusations about Special Agent Dameron."

"What kind of accusation?"

Poe closed his eyes, as Jess took a deep breath. It was better it came from her, he reasoned. Better someone on his side had the first word. "Terex is suggesting that Dameron has been working with Kylo Ren, that his whole abduction was staged, and that he betrayed Han Solo's location prior to his murder."

Whatever Ackbar had expected to hear, that clearly wasn't it. Poe watched the familiar routine of eyes going wide with shock, before the mind began to rationally process the words. He wanted to leave the room. The atmosphere was poisonous. Terex was standing now, hands on his hips and surrounded by some of the cronies he'd brought with him as part of his team. They'd clearly wised up to the fact that Jessika posed a serious threat and thought they were offering some protection. Idiots.

Ackbar brought a weary hand up to his forehead. "You're all behaving like children. There's so much wrong with this situation, I don't even know where to start with the number of ethical guidelines and Bureau rules broken. Terex, is this true?"

"It's a working hypothesis, Sir. I have the right to be hear-"

Ackbar cut him off with a warning growl, "You have the right to do nothing. Hypothesise all you like, Special Agent Terex, but if it involves another member of this organisation – you come to your superiors _first_. And _in private_. You're an experienced agent. You know better."

"Given Special Agent Dameron appears to be incomprehensibly idolised by almost everyone I meet around here, perhaps I was concerned-"

Jessika started forward again, "I swear to God, if you don't shut _up_. What is this? Poe wouldn't give your pathetic advances the time of day _again_ so you decide to publicly humiliate him?"

With a strangled gasp, Poe looked up with flaming cheeks, "Jess. Jess, please that's not helping."

Taking in his dishevelled, vaguely panicked expression, Jessika allowed her face to soften. She wanted to defend her friend, not hurt him more. Nodding her understanding, she squared her shoulders, "Perhaps Poe's right. I apologise. I shouldn't have wasted this much breath on you. I need to get out of here."

She fixed Poe with a look he couldn't even begin to understand before stalking out of the room. No one tried to stop her, but Snap tumbled over his own feet in his hurry to follow. Which left Poe feeling more alone than ever, subject to the scrutiny of so many gazes. What did they think they saw? Guilt? The panic of someone exposed? Or the horror he genuinely felt?

"Whatever happened in here, consider it over," Ackbar instructed after a pause could have been endless. "Sort that board out. Terex. My office. We clearly have matters to discuss."

"Sir."

\---

_'It's never black; it's never white;_   
_There's always something in the middle._   
_It's never wrong; it's never right;_   
_Yeah, in truth and lies, it's never simple.'_

_\---_

Poe desperately tried to concentrate, tried to pretend that he was writing up the last batch of witness interviews from the Hosnian murders. It was a mindless task. Poe closed his eyes. He'd interviewed half the Hosnian's street personally. The same questions. What did you do this evening? What time did you come home? What time did you go to bed? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything at all – could have been over the last few days?

As expected, the answers had all been negative. This was a Starkiller case. This man hadn't survived to murder for so long by being sloppy. Taking another deep breath, Poe tried to ignore the way his skin felt tight and pinched over the bones in his face. His mind wandered again, drifting to thoughts of Jessika, Snap, and that ugly confrontation this morning. He felt his cheeks burn with shame again as he remembered how he'd just stood there with his mouth open, letting others fight his battles for him.

After Terex left the room, Poe finally felt like he could inhale again without his chest constricting. He tumbled after his friends, but it was a half-hearted effort to find them. He wasn't ready yet. Couldn't quite process all the events of this morning or what they might mean. Every noise outside the small room he'd tucked himself into sent his heart racing, as he waited to see if it was going to be some of his colleagues announcing that he was to be temporarily relieved of duty. Or worse. Would they arrest him at Terex's word?

Poe tried to think what he would do in Ackbar's position. It hurt to admit that some of what Terex claimed made sense to an extent. He'd certainly spent long enough trying to convince the enquiry after the Quantico incident that he'd not known what Ben had planned, that the whole broken arm wasn't an elaborate set up to ensure Poe had an alibi and would be in no danger of being slaughtered like his students. He felt sick.

Dimly he realised there were footsteps outside and that they were getting louder. Although he half expected it, the firm knock at the door still startled him. He felt the unpleasant burst of adrenaline race through his veins. Swallowing his nerves, Poe forced himself to call out firmly, "Yeah?"

"Dameron – it's Ackbar. I need a word."

Sitting up in his seat, Poe pushed the lid of his laptop closed. Ackbar certainly wasn't who he'd been expecting as his first visitor, but whatever. It was time to stop lurking in an ex-broom cupboard. He needed to start facing up to this. Poe Dameron was many things. Cocky. Arrogant. Impulsive at times. But he was not a coward. "The door is open."

A rattle of the old squeaky doorknob and Ackbar's tall figure was taking up most of the doorway. Poe couldn't help glancing over his superior's shoulder to see if he was flanked by the muscle that would escort him off the premises or into an interview room. There was no one there. Poe couldn't hold back the shaky sigh of relief.

Without waiting for a further invitation, Ackbar crossed the small room to take up the seat on the other side of Poe's desk. Like all the furniture in this sad building, the chair and desk were battered and falling to pieces. Old pieces of flat pack put together without love and without much interest in the fact they would need to be functional for many years beyond their life expectancy. Poe almost sat on his hands to stop the instinctive way they were pulling at the peeling plastic covering on the desk. The faux-wood pattern trying to convince you the object was made of something sturdier and purer than coarse MDF.

"Dameron."

Poe's dark eyes glanced upwards, "Sir?"

"I wanted to let you know that I've told Terex to take a couple of rest shifts. He's left the building."

A temporary fix. Poe knew he should be grateful, but they were just skirting the key issues at hand. "Sir."

"Listen, Poe. This isn't an easy situation-"

"Am I being suspended?"

"What? No." It was slightly reassuring that Ackbar looked genuinely surprised at the question. "Poe, I've known you for a long time. So has Organa. I've been through your record with the Bureau. Hell, Poe. I was there too when the enquiry was ripping you all to shreds, trying to find somewhere to lay the blame for what happened. I don't believe Terex for a second."

It was all true. Poe hadn't worked directly with Ackbar before, but the man certainly had Leia's trust and that was almost always enough for Poe. He sensed a hesitation in Ackbar's voice though, a catch that continued to stir his nerves and the worms roiling in his stomach, "But?"

"But. There will be people for whom my word, for whom Leia Organa's word, is not enough. We're too close – to the case and to you. This is not something I want to do, but I also want you to be aware of what is going on. I'm going to have to ask for some low-level checks to be done back in Quantico."

"On me?"

"On you," Ackbar confirmed, unable to meet Poe's eyes for the first time in the whole conversation.

A familiar bubble started in Poe's gut, it spread a new warmth through him. Anger. He welcomed it like a close friend. Poe wasn't sure how to deal with blackmail, betrayal, and demonstrations of unquestioning loyalty. But he knew rage and he knew fury. "Do I need to get a lawyer or something?"

"No, Poe. This is not something to overreact over. I'm doing this as something in both our interests. A quick check through your phone records – we'll find enough there to evidentially refute some of Terex's claims. The rest will fall away after that."

Poe exhaled harshly through his nose. "Your trust in me ought to be enough." He was on his feet and didn't even remember pushing the chair back. "But it's not, is it? Regardless of what you just said. there must be a part of you - however large or small - that isn't certain?"

Ackbar sat back, the conciliatory and friendly demeanour slipping from his face and gestures. Perversely, Poe felt more comfortable. He'd rather have an honest conversation, understand exactly where the chips were falling. "What do you want me to say, Poe? Perhaps I don't agree with the specifics of Terex's arguments, but the man has a point somewhere. Only a few people knew where Han Solo was going to be housed. What if we've been running this investigation with blinkers? Ruling out possibilities because of assumptions and prejudice?"

"You think there might actually be a leak?"

Ackbar shrugged without commitment, "Facts are facts, Dameron. There's a limited group of people who knew about Solo."

"Ackbar, sir. This is ridiculous. Anybody could have overheard someone talking, asked a friend to get access to the file-"

"I'm not here to argue, Poe. I stand by my point that we brought Terex in for fresh perspective and he's made a semi-logical, if uncomfortable, suggestion." Ackbar looked away. He appeared to be preparing to leave and Poe's mind was cranking with speed, trying to work out the most important questions to fire out while he still had his boss's attention. Then Ackbar's next word hit him like a punch to the gut. "Unless."

Poe's hands went white where they were gripping the side of his chair, "Unless?"

"I'm not hard of hearing, Special Agent Dameron."

In the hot, close atmosphere of the room, sweat broke out involuntarily on Poe's brow. He frowned in genuine confusion, "I don't understand, sir."

"In the incident room earlier, your colleague seemed to suggest an ulterior motivation for Special Agent Terex's claim, perhaps knowing this might affect my judgements on the situation."

Poe knew his skin must have taken on an ashen pallor. His mind threw him back to a room – so similar to this one – the previous day. Terex's obvious flirtation and mild threat upon being rebuffed. Did he really think this would push Poe to him, begging to give his body in return for the quashing of malign rumours? Was he really willing to risk an innocent man's career over his desire for a quick fuck and conquest?

A horrible thought occurred to Poe then. Terex was a smooth and charismatic man. There must have been others, others like Poe who'd caught his eye. He struck Poe as a man who enjoyed the thrill of the chase and the first submission of his quarry. He'd always have half an eye out for the fix.

And he must be practised. He'd not put a finger on Poe, not made an explicit suggestion. There certainly was nothing in their conversations or public interactions that would make any case of harassment as anything more than Poe's word against his. Now wasn't the time to start fighting this battle. Poe didn't have the weapons to win.

Ackbar kept his face carefully neutral, but Poe could tell that deep down he wanted to be encouraging. "Is there something you want to tell me, Poe? Something about the nature of the contact between yourself and Special Agent Terex?"

Poe wanted to get out of this room. This had to be one of the worst conversations of his life and one of the lowest moments of his career. Fighting back the urge to just leap for the door, Poe forced himself to sit up straight and look Ackbar in the eye calmly, "There is nothing to report, sir."

It clearly wasn't the answer Ackbar seemed to have been steeling himself for. He blinked once in uncertainty and his expression betraying an emotion that could have been disappointment, but after a fraction of a second he nodded. "Right. To try and pre-empt some of your questions. I am happy for you to continue advising on this case, but I may ask some of your colleagues to check certain documents-"

"To keep tabs on me?"

"To check certain documents over. That is all, Poe. You are not under formal investigation or observation. Let's start easy though. I want you as the duty supervisor for the public call ins. Give it a couple of days and I'm sure things will settle down."

Poe worked hard to soothe the instinctive frown from his face. Most Agents had mixed feelings about being near the public call in/walk in work. Often well-meaning observers provided better leads than anyone could imagine, but the amount of shit you had to wade through to find those was staggering. Maybe Ackbar had a point though. The call in section was often staffed by volunteers and paperwork only processed up to local police or the Bureau once basic checks had been completed. He'd be able to work there without needing to feel the pressure of keeping up face with his regular teammates.

"Fine, but I want a demand of my own on record."

Ackbar sat back with his arms folded, clearly feeling the worst of the battle around this mess was over. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Poe to continue, "When you've got enough material together to refute Terex, which I can guarantee you will, I want him off both cases. Even if there was any truth to what he's suggesting, there's a process for this kind of matter and he's not followed it. Instead, he's damaged the morale of an already exhausted team and he's threatening the whole future of my career. I could make a formal complaint on any of those things and it's a serious breach of practice."

"Point noted, Dameron. For what it's worth, I agree. He came well recommended, but no one needs any trouble makers right now. We'll review this matter in a couple of days. Until then, I expect exemplary work from you."

"Sir."

"Dismissed. Get out of my sight, Dameron, and don't cause any more trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _What Do I Say_ , Landon Tewers  
>  _Love and Hate_ , Arrow Benjamin


	17. Chapter Seventeen: A Hairpin Trigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for your lovely feedback.
> 
> I have to admit updates might come fractionally slower now as we're moving into the final arc of the story and this is the section I've edited and reviewed less.

**Chapter Seventeen**

**A Hairpin Trigger**

_'How do we fall in love,_  
_Harder than a bullet could hit you?_  
_How do we fall apart,_  
_Faster than a hairpin trigger?'_

\---

Pleased to have escaped his interview with Ackbar in that increasingly claustrophobic room, Poe slipped out into the corridor. To his left, he could see the bright sunlight peering in around the edges of the main door to the police station. The doors were thin and beyond the entrance Poe could hear the faint sounds of laughter, talking, and the odd excited child's scream. He dimly remembered a local kindergarten wasn't far from here.

The suggestion of normality calmed him further and he took a tentative step towards the main entrance. He could pop out for a few minutes – maybe grab a semi-decent cup of coffee from a small café around the corner and a sandwich? He glanced at his watch, feeling that it must be nearly lunch time. The man started when it showed half one. Where had the morning gone? Time could fly away from you when you decided to hide from your problems in a converted cupboard.

He felt settled on a course of action and was already anticipating how pleasant the warm air and soft breeze would feel on his skin. The silence was suddenly broken by a figure barrelling through a set of double doors further up the corridor to the right. Poe's had tilted in curiosity, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloomy shadow. With a start, he realised he recognised the figure pacing at speed down the corridor. It was Finn. He refused to acknowledge the traitorous jump of excitement bubbling from somewhere in his stomach.

Finn was moving so quickly he was almost tripping over his own feet, "Poe? Shit, Poe. It's good to see you. Where have you been? I uh- heard about all that crap this morning."

Poe opened his mouth to reply to the barrage of questions, but Finn cut him off, "I'm glad I bumped into you. Do you know who's duty manager for the call ins? I've got a call I want someone to listen to ASAP."

That sounded like the coffee and sandwich plan had firmly been given the boot. Damnit. Maybe he could bribe someone to head out for him if he offered to buy for them as well? "Well, buddy." He placed a friendly arm around Finn's shoulders and gently spun him back the way he'd come, "It's funny you should ask that. I happen to be the supervisor today. Why don't you show me what you've got?"

\---

_"Good afternoon, you're through to an operator. Could you give me your name, please?"_

_"Ugh- Um- God, yeah. It's Imogen."_

_"Hi, Imogen. You've called because you might have some information for us?"_

_"Yeah- I mean, yes. Shit. Sorry. It's about the Han Solo murder. I saw the ad on TV."_

_"Alright, Imogen. That's great. Take your time and tell me slowly and clearly what you think might help."_

_"It's- Oh God, please. You have to believe me- I didn't know what I was doing."_

_"Imogen?"_

_"It's- Fuck, I don't want to go to jail. I just- I didn't realise what was going to happen."_

_"Imogen, you're going to need to explain a bit more clearly for me."_

_"Look. It's like this. Shit. Shit. God, just get it out. Just say it. I think- I think I told the murderer where he could find that guy. I didn't think anyone was going to die, please. I promise-"_

Poe ripped his headphones off and signalled for Finn to pause the recording of the call. The girl had sounded frantic and young. She also sounded honest as far as you could tell with these things – it seemed she believed the story anyway.

"What else does she go on to say?"

"Not much. She's left a number though. It's genuine and checks out as registered to an Imogen Bazine-Netal. Local girl. Local family."

Poe's mouth twisted into a frown, but he nodded thoughtfully. If she'd given a genuine name and a genuine contact telephone number, that was a good first sign. She wasn't trying to hide her identity or prevent them from speaking to her again. It was difficult to shake off the desperation in her voice. The girl sounded like she was about to burst into floods of tears at any moment.

"Right. Finn- can you get us an interview room set up with everything? Maybe see if Rey's around as well and ask her if she recognises the girl's name or family? Could be useful if they have any background. I'm gonna go somewhere a bit more private and call her back. I think it'd be best if she came to talk to us in person."

\---

Imogen Bazine-Netal. In some respects, she was exactly what Poe had been expecting – however risky he knew it was to make assumptions on partial information. In this case, her wavering and stuttering voice. In his head, he'd seen a small girl – maybe mid or older teens. Nothing too striking in her appearance and with big wide eyes that kept looking at the world and thinking she knew everything it could make you suffer through, only to be proved wrong again and again.

In reality, she was tall, with a slim build and thin shoulders hunched, as though she resented anyone from so much as glancing at her. Once you saw past that general teenage resentment and the hormone-fuelled chip on her shoulder, you could see flashes of a promising young woman. Her long brown hair fell over her face, but the tips were dyed a rebellious shade of blue. A striking colour for someone who seemed to fight against attention.

Imogen sat across the table from him, a half-drunk cup of tea in front of her. Poe was ready to bet his lunch (not that he was in any risk of getting that any time soon) that she'd been the kind of interviewee that would start shredding the Styrofoam cup once the liquid was gone. Her fingers were light and restless, searching for a loose thread or hem to play with whilst she did everything possible to avoid looking at him.

Next to him, Rey sat bolt upright. Initially, Poe thought it might have been a good idea to have another female – not to mention a local face – in the room. It turned out that Rey didn't have too much experience of formal interviews yet and it was obvious her nerves were winning out and turning her into a statue. It wasn't doing a huge amount to diffuse the stress in the room. With a glance at his watch, Poe decided the sooner someone started talking – the better.

"Right, Imogen. Thanks for coming to meet us. As I mentioned outside, this interview is going to be recorded. I'm going to start the tape going now – okay?"

The girl nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the scuffed, dirty linoleum tiles on the floor.

"Recording begins. The time is now half past two on," Poe paused to check the date before continuing with the routine introductions. "This is the first interview with potential witness Imogen Bazine-Netal. Miss Bazine-Netal, you have been offered both legal representation and an appropriate adult at this interview and elected not to have anyone. Would you be able to confirm this for the record?"

"Yeah, that's right. I didn't want a lawyer or whatever. And it's Immy." She glanced up and Poe caught a glimpse of beautiful hazel eyes and an intelligent gaze. "You can call me Immy – or Imogen. Miss Bazine-Netal sounds ridiculous."

"Okay, Imogen it is." Privately Poe was pleased. It was also so much easier to build a rapport when you could address someone by their given name. "As you know, I am Special Agent Poe Dameron and with me I have Officer Rey – I think you might have seen her around?"

Imogen favoured Rey with the briefest of looks before nodding silently, a tiny flash of suspicion livening her features.

"Great. Now. You called our information line, suggesting you might have something to tell us about the murder of Han Solo. I wonder if we could talk about that. Very slowly. Right from the start.”

\---

"And that's when I logged into the forum."

Poe held up a hand, signalling that he wanted to break things down, "Just to be clear, Imogen. What forum and what time?"

"Oh God, I don't know. It might have been about half six? Before I had dinner with my family. My dad yells at me whenever he sees me on the computer, so it's easiest to do it when he's busy cooking." She waited, having picked up some of Poe's signals when he was ready for her to go on, "And the forum? I don't know. It's- Look, shit. I really, _really_ don't want to get into trouble. I promise you, I didn't know. My dad is going to be so angry with me."

"Imogen, what's the name of the forum?"

She sighed, fiddling more and more furiously with the hem of a well-worn hoodie emblazoned with what Poe thought he recognised as the logo of the local high school. Imogen opened her mouth, possibly to launch into another defensive speech. Instead, a moment later her shoulders sagged. "Fine. Have you heard of Tak0d@na?"

Poe, who had been making notes paused, "Yeah. Sure. I've heard of it. I thought it was pretty much used to push drugs."

Instantly, Imogen was almost on her feet; her face alight with rage, "I do _not_ buy or use drugs. Do you get that? You can test me or search my home of whatever the fuck you want. I'm an _athlete_ and I don't mess around with shit like that. I don't care what crap you've heard from my dad."

Taken aback by the sudden change in mood, Poe was happy to let Rey take over for a moment to try and calm the atmosphere. "Imogen, no one is accusing you of that. I know your dad and I know you. I heard you've got an athletics scholarship for a college out of State? That's pretty amazing. Now, do you want to sit down and we can keep talking? Or would you like a break?"

Imogen's expression immediately softened, perhaps not expecting to receive so little pushback. She blinked at them, although a hint of distrust remained in her gaze. "No. It's fine. I just want to get through this and call my dad."

"Okay," interjected Poe, seizing the opportunity to take back control, "So how come you've heard about and been accessing Tak0d@na?"

"It's not me. It's my boyfriend. He's got some weird fascination with all that shit – he could talk to you for hours about the deep web and the black web or whatever. I don't get it. I just go along with it, if that's what makes him happy."

"And is he why you also happened to be at Maz's bar? Because no offence, but you're not even eighteen yet and I wouldn't have zoomed in on that as the top entertainment spot around here."

Imogen raised a well-groomed eyebrow, following a lazy fly as it buzzed helplessly against the two-way glass. Poe started to realise the shadows under her eyes were actually the result of dark eyeliner, poorly removed. "Yeah, okay. Fine. What do you want me to say? I skipped school. My boyfriend's older – he just gets some sort of kick about being places like that. He says it's like an adrenaline kick and taking a chance with danger or shit like that. I've been therefore before a couple of times and it isn't that bad. I get a drink, he satisfies his fucking odd obsession, and that's that."

"And Tak0d@na?"

"When I accessed it the day before the mur- the day," she stopped, physically unable to finish the sentence. "That day. Like I said, we were in the bar, talking, and just messing around to see what dodgy shit people had up for sale. You're right. It's pretty much always drugs. But that day was different. Someone put up a message, asking for information about Han Solo."

Poe and Rey nodded, focussing all the more intently as Imogen reached the key point of her testimony. "They included a picture as well – it was old and really blurry. Maybe from an old newspaper? Whatever. You could recognise his face and suddenly I could hear my boyfriend choking on whatever crap he was drinking. Next thing he's running in my ear that Solo's in the fucking bar – he was adamant and when I had a quick look at the guy – he did look like Solo. Whoever it was asking for the information was offering a BitCoin reward.

"Before I know it, we're talking like we're actually going to reply and give that information. Grummie, my boyfriend, said he'd heard about Han Solo before. He said he'd been a prolific smuggler before he turned and started working for the Feds. But he was the kind of guy people tended remember for all the scores they hadn't settled, right? Grummie thought it must have been about a debt or something. There was nothing in that post to suggest this nutcase wanted to _kill_ him."

"What happened," Poe prompted gently.

Imogen ran her hands through her long hair, a gesture that was quickly increasing its lanky quality. "I tried to tell him it was a bad idea. He wouldn't listen. He wanted me to do it initially – contact the poster with a Private Message. He's really fucking persuasive sometimes. Made it sound exciting and cool. Like we were in some sort of spy movie." She shrugged her shoulders easily, something worldly about her manner belying the girl-next-door image she was trying to project at the same time. "Eventually I gave in, but I told him I wanted to create a new account; use VPN; whatever."

She broke off, swallowed a gulp of cold tea with a grimace, "We messaged. Someone came back straightaway. They didn't mess around. Said there'd be more cash in whatever CryptoCurrency we wanted for keeping tabs on Solo. Look, I'm not going to drag this out. Grummie wanted to keep playing his fantasy, so we followed the cops when they took Solo away. We waited near the police station and waited until Solo came back out and you lot took him to that motel. Grummie messaged the location. Not wanting to be disrespectful, but you guys didn't make it fucking hard."

Poe's mouth was twisted into a frown, but he didn't argue. The motel was meant to be a temporary one night thing, but there was no arguing they'd been lax in the security procedures.

"Okay, Imogen. I hope you'll understand, but we're going to need your phone or laptop or whichever device you used to post the messages. The evidence will be important and our tech guys might be able to do something with the other guy's account – you sound like you're pretty savvy with your IT, so I'm sure you get it."

The girl gave him a hard stare before dropping her phone on the table with a loud clatter, "Am I going to get that back? My dad is already going to be pissed off about this and he's probably going to tell me to do one if I ask for a new computer as well."

"Just get something cheap as a temporary fix; once we've got what we need, we'll get it back to you. I'm also going to need the details for your boyfriend-" Poe consulted his notes, "Grummie?"

When he looked back over, Imogen was clutching at the edges of her seat and a sense of vulnerability returned to her posture. "Can I ask, are we in trouble?"

"I can't pretend giving that information about Solo to a total stranger seems like a good idea, but you guys weren't to know who you were talking to or why they wanted it. I gotta say though, your boyfriend doesn't sound like the best influence in the world. Were you messing around on forums like that before you met him?"

"Whatever. You sound like my dad. Grummie's fine. He'll grow out of it. Go easy on him. He's going to be pissed off that I spoke to you, but I couldn't not do it after those little girls."

"Little girls?"

"The Mayor’s kids. That happened on the same night, didn't it? I babysat those girls a couple of times. They were sweet. Killing people is fucked up. I don't care how people justify it and I _never_ wanted to be part of it."

Having made this pronouncement and starting to look greener around the gills, Imogen asked for a break. Content that her story was making sense, Poe could already see numerous angles they could look at for corroboration. He was sure the Agents listening, keeping an oh-so close eye on his conduct, from the other side of the one-way glass would already be on it as well. He was also careful not to pay much attention to the tiny flash of excitement flaring at the prospect the two killers they hunted might finally have made a mistake. Perhaps even more than that, if Imogen's story could be corroborated, it would be enough to refute Terex's suggestion that the information was given to the killers by an insider and would hopefully be enough to enable Ackbar to kick his odious presence back to Quantico or wherever he'd crawled in from.

Together, he and Rey watched as Imogen was led out by another local officer. Once he was sure the girl was out of earshot, he turned to Rey, "Grummie? What kind of name is that?"

"It's short for Grummgar. I think they were at the same high school. He's not… been in some trouble, but mostly fights. He's got a bit of a passion for hunting – I think it's a thing for his family. I don't know. He's a big guy and his attitude when he's in the police station… I can see why Imogen’'s dad doesn't like him."

Poe nodded at Rey's measured words, increasingly glad for her insight into the workings of a local town. She was going to see far more than they ever would and help them understand how to approach people for help. Even as he thanked her aloud, Poe decided she reminded him of Finn more and more. Both of them seemed to have built walls up around themselves – perfectly friendly and polite, but not willing to risk anyone getting closer than an arm's length.

There was something about Rey's passion, sense of duty, and gentleness at times that he liked. He hoped they would be around long enough for some of those barriers to come down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _River_ , Bishop Briggs


	18. Chapter Eighteen: What You Had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for your lovely feedback. =)
> 
> Good news is that I've essentially finished the writing now, so I finally know roughly how many chapters there will be.

**Chapter Eighteen**

**What You Had**

_'And that's what you want, but it's not what you're asking for;_  
_And that's what you're asking, but you're gonna get more than you bargained for;_  
_I said that's what you had, but you don't have it anymore._  
_You had it coming.'_

\---

A couple of days later, the entire two teams working the Kylo Ren and Starkiller murders were grouped in the largest briefing room in the local police station. Even then, it wasn't big enough and with all the chairs gone there were men and women settled against walls and perched on desks – a couple had even resorted to sprawling on the floor. However, Poe sensed a purposeful buzz in the room that was becoming infectious.

It felt, dare he hope, that they might be on the edge of a breakthrough.

Leia stood at the front beside Ackbar, her spine straight and radiating calm. There was no sign of her grief at the recent loss of her husband, no suggestion the stress of having her only son under active investigation again was weighing her down. It was at times like this Poe remembered why he idolised this woman; she was a leader and she was here in a show of strength and support for the men and women who had followed her on this thankless case, whatever her personal circumstances.

Raising his hand, Ackbar cleared his throat pointedly. Silence swept through the room, as people broke off their conversations. Many pulled out small notebooks, ready for the key points of the briefing. Poe, still technically only able to advise on the cases, didn't join them for the minute. He would just listen and bug Finn or Jess if there were any details he wanted later.

"Thank you all for joining me this morning. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you for your hard work. These cases have been harrowing and thankless. I appreciate our less than flattering press coverage doesn't help morale either. All I can say to you is that we are grateful; we are making progress; and we have the full support of the highest figures in the FBI behind us."

A practised public speaker, Ackbar paused to allow the round of whispering to die down. "Now, let's concentrate on the reason we're all here – to bring two killers to justice. I'd like to start with the individual referred to as the 'Starkiller'." At this point, Ackbar consulted his notes – a clear sign that he wished to be completely precise in the briefing.

“As you know, this individual appears to have a meticulous understanding of forensic investigation and has so far left nothing behind that could be used for identification. However, following our press conference, we received a call from a motel owner who thought he recognised the photograph of Ben Solo.” Poe steadfastly refused to acknowledge the chill that ran down his spine, even just at the mention of Ben’s name.

"Enquiries at the motel are ongoing. However, given the limited forensic opportunities, our brilliant team patiently and meticulously stripped down the room the owner believes Solo rented from top to bottom. They found a single hair that failed to wash down the drain." Poe could feel his heartbeat quickening. There had been rumours circulating for the last few hours about some sort of DNA coup and he knew this must be it. He could sense similar excitement from his colleagues, as they all unconsciously leant forwards to catch Ackbar's every word.

"Unfortunately, there was no exact DNA match in our databases. However, there was a partial match with a Missing Person's report for a Brendol Hux." At this point, a screen behind Ackbar flickered into life, bringing up a picture of a sneering, pale face. The man looked at the camera with contempt written across every part of his features, brought into even sharper relief by the shock of his slicked back red hair.

Raising their hand, someone called from the back, "So is this the suspect for the Starkiller?"

Ackbar motioned to another man, "I think I'll defer to the Starkiller team to answer that."

Jumping to his feet, a guy Poe recognised as one of the leading investigators took over smoothly, "Short answer, possibly. He's a little older than the profile suggested, but as the Missing Persons report suggests, he went off the map years ago. He'd have the right kind of skill set – military training, survivalist tendencies, heavily involved with White Supremacist groups. What that wouldn't explain is why the hair has only provided a partial match. There's another possibility – and I'd like to stress for the record that this is remains a working theory."

He nodded towards whoever was controlling the presentation slides and another photograph appeared. It was a military photograph of a younger man, but the family resemblance was inescapable – right down to the ghost of a sneer playing across the mouth. "This is Armitage Hux. He's the only son of Brendol and the person who reported his father missing. As you can see, ex-military as well. We're still in the process of pulling his full records. However, I can tell you now he was honourably discharged about five years ago, but the unofficial story is that he was asked to leave before they had to push him. Little too keen on the violence side of things, which is saying something if the Marines were uncomfortable."

Poe took a moment to take in the face. Could this be the man who had slaughtered so many innocent people for the sadistic pleasure of it? His photograph here certainly wasn't helping his case – his complexion was so pallid it was almost bloodless, and his pale eyes were frigid. There was no sense of mercy in his gaze – only contempt and calculation. Could he imagine him together with Ben Solo? The two of them engaged in a violent contest against the rest of the world, convinced of their superiority?

"Since leaving the military, Armitage Hux dropped off the map. No job, no address, no nothing. Whether he's involved or not, we have enough reason to bring him in and have a chat."

Nodding to Ackbar, the investigator settled himself back into his seat. United with Leia again at the front, Ackbar waved his hands for quiet, "As regards Han Solo, I am sure most of you will be aware by now that we have sufficient evidence to identify how his location was compromised. There is no indication anyone inside the FBI or the local police forces assisted with disseminating this information. I wish to make that point extremely clear." Poe blinked, feeling as though fifty pairs of eyes had swivelled in his direction on cue.

He became aware of a reassuring warmth either side and glanced left and right to find Jess and Snap has silently settled beside him. Poe allowed a small smile to slip onto his face, taking comfort from their unwavering support. Terex was long gone and the lingering weight of suspicion lifted in one fell swoop. The effect of his departure and Ackbar's announcement was astonishingly lightening, even breathing seemed easier.

"In a few short weeks, we've gone from no suspects to linking these cases and identifying either perpetrators or key persons of interest. These are the breakthroughs we've been waiting for, but I'm sure I do not need to tell you that until we detain actual suspects, members of the public remain in grave danger. The question Assistant Director Organa and I put to you now is how to capitalise on these leads – principally should we keep the information classified to enable continued covert investigation or do we take the Hux photographs, in particular, public and appeal for information?"

Next to him, Poe felt the rustle of fabric as Jess raised her hand to begin the discussion, "If this guy Hux has gone off the grid, calls from the public might be our only way forwards. Not to state the obvious, but that hair colour is pretty unusual. There's going to be a good chance someone will remember him. Also, if it turns out he is the Starkiller, it's no bad thing to warn people."

"But if it's not him," someone called from across the room, "we'll be associating his name with some horrific crimes. It'll never be possible to undo that once the press gets hold of it. It could ruin his life. Has someone checked with the lawyers we wouldn't be opening ourselves up to some sort of defamation suit? Or, if it is him, what if releasing his photograph causes him to escalate? Has anyone asked what the BAU thinks?"

Clearing his throat, Ackbar nodded, "We have consulted with the BAU. They think either Brendol Hux or his son could match the profile they've been building. However, they have suggested that releasing these photographs to the press could make the killer feel like they are losing control and that this may cause a retaliation."

"So basically," Jess summarised, smoothing her dark hair back from her forehead, "we need to put these photographs out there to stand a chance of tracking these guys down. If we do that, they're either innocent and we ruin their lives or, they're not, and it freaks them out and the worst-case result is – what – another Hosnian household?"

The room fell silent to the point where Poe could hear the buzzing hum of the fluorescent light strips above their heads.

After a moment to ensure no one else had anything to say, Ackbar spoke, "Clearly this is a difficult decision. Assistant Director Organa and I have a conference call planned with some seniors back in Quantico. I am certain the answer will be taken out of our hands, but I would warn you that initial feelings among the seniors when we were discussing this earlier was steering towards a press conference to release the photographs. I reiterate, no decisions have been made, but this may be where we head next.

"However, in the meantime, I would ask anyone with capacity to report to my team and assist them with their enquiries to make sure we really don't have any live leads on the Hux family. Dismissed."

\---

"This is crazy," Finn muttered as he stared at his computer, reading through the email that had just been sent by the General and Ackbar. It confirmed they'd been instructed to proceed with the press briefing, arguing that as well as generating leads it would hopefully increase public confidence in their law enforcement organisations if it looked like they were making progress on the case.

Finn’s mind flashed to Han's body collapsed on the floor, a dark pool of his blood oozing across the damaged tarmac. His eyes flickered next to the incident board on the other side of the room, which still featured graphic images of the blood-spattered Hosnian house.

"What's up, buddy? You've got a face like BB-8 when I tell him walk time's over."

Finn glanced up to see Poe peering at him with an expression of concern, an arm hovering over his back as though uncertain of its welcome if he draped it around Finn's shoulders. When Finn didn't immediately respond, Poe came around the back of his chair to see what he'd been looking at.

"Oh, yeah. I saw that came through too." Glancing around the room to see if anyone else was paying attention, Poe carefully lowered himself into a spare chair next to Finn's desk. Appearing unusually fatigued, Poe dropped his voice to no more than a whisper, "It's not been made common knowledge, but they've asked me and the General to stand in the background of the briefing again."

Disbelief momentarily stole Finn's breath, "That's madness. It'd be like you were… goading them. Why does anyone want to do that?"

Poe rubbed his eyes wearily, "They're making mistakes, Finn. It's all got too personal and they can't control all the variables. Those errors will only increase if they're angry, emotional. The more they make, the closer we are to building evidential cases and actually catching them."

"Poe, people are dying." Finn's voice shook with suppressed emotion – he couldn't decide if it was sadness or a growing rage. "I don't know if this is something you get better at when you're a tough, experienced FBI agent, but this charade of a press briefing is going to get people killed. You're gambling with lives – for what? Hoping that maybe under the body of the next dead child you might find a sign saying 'crazy killers this way'?"

Hurt flashed in Poe's dark eyes and Finn felt momentarily guilty. He'd idolised Poe – there was no point in lying to himself about it. But now as he looked around, Finn found himself asking if this was really the career, the kind of decisions he wanted to be involved with and to be seen condoning. He wasn't going to sugar-coat his opinions and roll over either. However shy or out of his depth Finn felt, there had always been a strong moral code directing his actions. He'd developed that the hard way – through blood, sweat, tears, and more mistakes than he wanted to name.

"What do you want me to say? Sometimes to make progress in this kind of work, you have to take a calculated risk."

"That's what human lives come down to for you? Calculated risk?"

"You're twisting my words. What did you expect when you joined the FBI? We deal with the worst kind of criminals. They don't play by the normal rules, Finn. If we do nothing and the bodies still piling up, that'd be okay though? At least the blood wouldn't be anywhere near your hands?"

Finn shook his head. Poe wouldn't get it. He'd been living this lifestyle for too long and couldn't understand what it looked like for an outsider. He locked his computer before getting abruptly to his feet. "I need some air. Then I'm going to speak to someone about transferring off this team." He looked down at Poe, forcing himself to ignore the expression of devastated betrayal on his friend's face.

"I walked away from a life where people lost their lives in pointless power struggles, baiting and daring their opponents to react just so they could prove they were the toughest, the meanest ones on the block. I didn't join the FBI to go right back where I started."

"Finn, this is completely different-"

"I think the difference is just a matter of perspective." With that, Finn shucked off Poe's spare jacket and folded it over the back of the chair he'd vacated. "Thanks for lending me this – I can wash it if you-"

"Finn-"

It was only as Finn made towards the door that would take him out to the front of the police station that he realised Rey was standing in front of his desk. He had no idea how long she'd been there, but it was clear from the shock on her face she must have heard some of their conversation. Her dark eyes flickered down to Poe's jacket and then back up to Finn, as though trying to understand whether he was serious.

Finn couldn't meet her gaze. He stared at the filthy linoleum floor tiles, a strange feeling of sickness bubbling in his stomach. Poe looked like he was about to cry, but Finn had literally watched the shutters come down on Rey's face. She was accusing him, clearly thought he was a coward. And maybe he was. But there was nothing wrong with disagreeing ethically with a strategy. They were encouraged to question decisions, test out thinking and, in the end, no one would force Finn to work somewhere he was uncomfortable. He was completely within his rights to walk away.

He just wished as he took those first, most difficult steps past a speechless Rey that he felt better, like a weight was being lifted, rather than as though he was sinking through the floor. His admiration for her, his burgeoning romantic feelings flared brightly. These emotions were pointless now. She'd never look at him again and Finn couldn't blame her. She was as bright as the sun and deserved someone who could stand next to her, burning with the same intensity.

Poe might be more forgiving, but in some ways that gentleness was harder to bear than condemnation. He'd rather Poe told him he was a spineless as he felt, walking away when the stakes rose too high.

Resisting the temptation to turn back, Finn headed out of the room and forced himself to believe there was nothing left to say.

\---

 _'Careful what you say and who you say it to._  
_Maybe you talk too much_  
_And you were asking for it._  
_You can blame bad luck,_  
_But you were asking for it._ '

\---

Kylo Ren thought he had seen Hux angry before. He thought maybe the moment Hux had discovered Poe's kidnapping, or worse his escape, might have been the high points of his fury. However, words seemed inadequate to describe the expression on Hux's face when his photograph flashed up as part of the FBI's latest round of unnecessarily dramatic press briefings.

If Kylo hadn't essentially _liked_ Hux he would maybe have found it funny. His partner clearly thought no one would ever catch up with him, that all his anally retentive cleanliness and endless, endless planning would ensure he’d never be linked to his crimes. Kylo found himself maintaining a more pragmatic attitude – you couldn't control the world. Any combination of random events could have exposed them before now. Maybe Kylo's unexpected rendezvous with Special Agent Poe Dameron had accelerated the process – but who could ever say?

Somehow, as the colour drained from Hux's already pale face, Kylo felt that spouting philosophy was not going to be helpful at this precise moment. In fact, he'd probably end up with a knife in his guts for his troubles.

"How could they fucking _know_?" Although Hux had asked the question aloud, Kylo felt it wasn't directed at him. Hux's eyes were still firmly fixed to the small, grainy television screen. The photograph of Hux in his fancy military uniform was gone, which Kylo found fractionally disappointing. It was so rare that he got a window into Hux's life prior to their strange nomadic existence – flitting uncertainly from nameless motels to rural hideaways. He thought the smart, formal clothing suited Hux, a perfect, buttoned-up ball of repression and sadism.

It was at that moment Kylo realised how little he actually knew about Hux. He'd guessed a military background, but never asked which service. He didn't know whether Hux had ever been abroad – what kind of tasks he'd performed in the name of his country. He didn't know precisely how old Hux was or where he’d been to college. Clearly Hux had significant father issues (Kylo thought he was going to smash the screen when the stupid Feds dared to show a picture of good old Brendol), but beyond that – just blank space.

They'd strayed into each other's paths not long after Quantico, when Kylo was at his lowest. He'd shrugged off his old identity, baptising his new name in a rain of blood. But after that. After the high. He crashed back to earth. He'd been so careful, planned this one with a meticulousness even Hux couldn't fault. He ran and ran and ran. One eye always on the road behind or the locked door of whatever hole he was hiding in, half-expecting to be woken up by a small army in a dawn raid.

But it never came. Just as he suspected, they were too stupid. A classroom full of dead trainee agents and that still wasn't motivation enough. However, in acknowledging his superiority, Kylo realised that he'd also condemned himself to isolation, loneliness.

He'd hated training, hated answering to a chain of command, but at least he’d been able to indulge in a little mean-spirited baiting. And there was nothing he'd enjoyed more than seeking out the purest, most kind-natured of his contemporaries and slowly, slowly peeling them open. If he'd had just a bit more time, Special Agent Poe Dameron would have been his masterpiece for that artform.

Kylo jolted out of his reverie when he realised the motel room had gone suddenly quiet. A quick glance informed him that Hux had finally shut off the television, unable to bear the torment of the endless news cycle. He stood bolt upright in the centre of the room, the strong, confident posture of a military man never having left him. His hand were clasped tightly behind his back, informing Kylo that his lover was deep in thought.

He’d be a fool to pretend Hux's rage didn't worry him. Kylo himself presented an easy outlet for that anger and he felt slightly lethargic at the moment, certainly not keen to get involved in a vicious scrap, even if it might then turn into a fantastically violent round between the sheets.

"I'm going to kill them."

Hux's voice was calm to the point of unsettling, especially when Kylo knew a volcano must be erupting inside what was left of Hux's soul. "Not straightaway, of course. That's what they want. They think we’re stupid and will go about our work in a rage and make all sorts of blundering mistakes. No, we'll wait. Let the press coverage die down. Then, once they've exhausted their guard and watchfulness, I'm going to teach them a lesson and make them understand they need to leave us alone."

Kylo was slightly touched that even in the depths of his rage, Hux considered them a unit. Maybe they were both better at this 'feelings' thing than anyone had given them credit for. Okay, Kylo was pretty sure he was never going to use the 'l' word to describe how he felt about a single person on this earth, he would miss the company Hux provided. He wouldn't want to return to that half, shadowy existence before they met.

At some point in the last few seconds, Hux had slipped out an old Swiss Army knife, slipping the blade out of its sheath again and again and again. "I hope you don’t have any objections."

Well, that was sweet. Hux thought he might have some lingering sentimentality for his old employer. "Not one."

"If I gave you a choice," Hux tilted his head to one side. Since the news broadcast, the last of the daylight in the room had faded. Neither of them moved to turn on the lights, leaving them almost in darkness. Hux was nothing but a play of shadow and his pupils glittered, blown wide like those of a shark scenting blood, "Who would you pick first?"

From his more comfortable position on the room's rickety double bed, Kylo lounged backwards. His mind rippled back over the images of the broadcast. He'd recognised quite a few people in that room – that old fool Ackbar, sainted Special Agent Dameron, and then, off course, right in the back… "Did you see my mother, loitering at the back of the room? They're dangling her as a tease. It'd be a shame if someone didn't take them up on their offer?"

\---

"Did you mean it when you said you were leaving?" Rey didn't take her eyes off the road, doggedly staring at the tarmac ahead as though it might shift under the wheels of their car. Although she was avoiding his gaze, her question was blunt and to the point. When she spoke, it was through slightly clenched teeth and that was the only way Finn could tell Rey was struggling to contain her stronger emotions.

Guilt roiled in his stomach for the umpteenth time that morning and Finn cursed the bright spark who'd thought to pair them up for a session of following up enquiries. He sighed, fixing his own gaze on the swampland rolling by the window, "Yeah, I've put in for a transfer to a different team." He didn't try to justify it again, couldn't find the words to explain a gut instinct that told him he needed to leave, to move away from these endless, mindless killings.

"You don't have to go. They need you here." There was a sense of urgency to Rey's tone that made something strange bubble in Finn’s heart. Whilst he appreciated the unwarranted compliment about his work, there was a vulnerability in the scratch of her voice he hadn't heard before. Hope was a vicious creature, but Finn had to fight very hard not to reach out for Rey's hand.

"I can't do it anymore, Rey. I can't get the images of those two little girls out of my head. They're using live television to bait these monsters. Who knows what they'll do to retaliate next time."

The curve of Rey's lips moved downwards, her expression hardening, "Your team is doing the best they can. They're trying to stop Kylo Ren. You've been helping them to do that and you could keep helping – imagine how you'll feel when they're finally arrested. You'd be a hero."

Finn shook his head, "I don't want to be a hero. I don't want to play with people's lives. This is crazy and they don't know what they're doing. I didn't join the FBI to gamble over risks like this. I just want to go back to a stable desk job in Quantico and do what I'm meant to do."

Rey didn't reply. Finn swallowed, understanding that she would always remember him as a coward. If he left, was there any other word for it? He was lucky. As a new analyst, he didn't have knowledge of these cases like Poe and Leia. He could be replaced. It was stupid to worry about leaving them because someone – probably someone better than him – would come as a replacement. It wasn't betraying anyone or removing critical support. Hell, the transfer hadn't even been approved yet.

So his mind rambled on, twisting in desperate knots to justify what he already knew to be true if he was straight with his conscience: this was cowardice and he was running away. Away from the endless hours of mind-numbing stress, of frustration and tiredness so intense he found himself shaking at his desk, of the endless parade of photographs of blue-lipped corpses who deserved much more than the fate they were dealt.

He honestly didn't know how Poe and Leia managed to come into work day after day after day. How they managed to sleep at night knowing two men they were responsible for stopping were still free to murder with impunity. How could they rest not knowing whether they'd wake up to find another family torn apart? Finn didn't know. He just knew he wasn't like them, wasn't strong enough to separate his emotions from the work. There was nothing wrong with admitting that. Each person had their own strengths and this wasn't his field. No big deal. He'd go back to Virginia and start again.

Before he could stop himself, Finn blurted out, "If you were smart, you'd leave this alone as well. It's going to end badly. We could make a fresh start together."

Before he'd finished speaking, Finn knew he'd screwed up. His big mouth. Wasn't he content to screw himself over, now he was trying to drag Rey – one of the only sparks of light in this whole damned mess – into trouble too? Not for the first time, he wondered why it was so difficult to explain how he felt to Rey. She was so strong, so sure of her convictions. She shone so bright, it blinded him. How could he ever hope to be worthy of her? He was still that boy who couldn't stop running from the fight. Rey would never turn tail like this, never let down those she considered friends.

That was why Finn could only say 'run away with me' and not 'please leave this alone because I'm so scared you'll get hurt'.

From his outburst, Rey seemed to understand that no argument she could offer was going to persuade Finn to change his mind. As the lush green vegetation closed in on the road, she sat back and relaxed her grip on the wheel. Resignation. Disappointment. Likely she thought she was hiding her feelings, but Finn could read it all in the small tells of her body language. It made him feel like the lowest form of life to have let her down, but even that wasn't enough to reverse his decision.

"I know you want to get back to the Station, but can we stop off somewhere quickly first?" Finn's dark eyes glanced her way questioningly. "There's a guy I know – he’s homeless, but there's a derelict factory nearby he stays in. With everything that's been going on around here, I just want to check he's okay."

Affecting a nonchalant shrug, Finn mumbled, "Sure. We've got loads of time. No one's expecting me for an hour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Iscariot_ , Walk The Moon  
>  _Asking For It_ , Shinedown


	19. Chapter Nineteen: On The Battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're definitely gearing up towards an ending now - probably worth a quick flag that there's semi-graphic descriptions of violence here. 
> 
> Thank you again for all your encouraging feedback. =)

**Chapter Nineteen**

**On The Battlefield**

_'We carry on through the storm,_  
_Tired soldiers in this war._  
_Remember what we're fighting for,_  
_Meet me on the battlefield.'_

\---

"So who is this guy, anyway?" Finn tried hard not to cringe away in shock as yet another sheet of tattered, dirty plastic brushed and fluttered at the back of his neck. They'd entered what Rey had described as an abandoned factory, forcing open a juddering, rusty door before slipping through a narrow gap. Maybe that had been some sort of fancy reception, entrance area back in the building's heyday? Finn thought he caught sight of a large desk likely mouldering away under a filthy dust cover.

Rey had ignored all of this though, striding forward with the confidence of someone who'd clearly visited a location before and felt they knew their way around its unexpected surprises. She made (of course) for a dank, dark doorway, which Finn discovered as they passed through led into a large room – huge. Clearly the shop floor where the actual business of making and creating was done.

Ahead of them, there were rows and rows of waist-high wooden benches in a rich, red wood – all of them in various states of decay and disrepair. Rows of shelves ran along all the side walls, stretching back into the gloom until Finn's eyes were no longer able to make out their shape. Intermittently, he caught sight of additional doors leading off the main floor. These were usually covered with the same shredded plastic and an unseen breeze was causing this to flutter in the hot, late summer air.

Every so often Finn would catch a waft of scent, sweet and thick – the smell of something rotten. Another coarser smell met his nose as well – piss and the faint undertone of excrement. He wouldn't have liked to guess whether it was human or animal. Altogether, it made Finn's stomach turn and his fingers itched to wrap themselves around his gun. This whole place had a freaky vibe and he could easily have believed he'd walked onto the set of some budget Hollywood horror film.

A few feet ahead of him, Rey had her flashlight out and was slowly scanning some of the darker nooks and crannies near the entrance, "I don't know what his full name is, but his surname is Tekka. I just call him Mr. Tekka. I don't know much about him, but I think he's an ex-Fed or maybe ex-military? I don't know and it's not really important. What matters is that he's got no one to look out for him."

Except you, Finn wants to add. However, he already knows Rey would shuck that compliment off uncomfortably and not understand. She would see it as an inherent duty – part of her job. Finn could have told her until he was blue in the fact that nine out of ten cops wouldn't go to the lengths Rey did to look after people and do what was right and she still probably wouldn't believe him. Another strange naivety in someone who was otherwise worldly before her time.

As Rey began to swing her flashlight across the room, Finn realised he was seeing snatches of colour – bright and unnatural. Reds, oranges, a particularly strong fluorescent yellow. His mind took a moment to process the shapes before he understood what he was seeing – graffiti. So the local youths with too much time on their hands knew about this place as well? Not surprising. It looked like an ideal hangout if you wanted to get up to mischief away from prying eyes.

What surprised him though was the range – he caught sight of some beautiful images. Well drawn bloody roses, so red they looked as though the petals were almost oozing out of the damp dripping down the walls. Along with these images though, there were the usual range of political slogans – veering more firmly towards the right than anything else, Finn noted. There was even a swastika emblazoned over one panel of wall, lurking in the darkness until it had an audience.

Although it was only mid-morning, the room felt strangely dim. After a moment, Finn recalled he had seen bubbling black clouds drifting over the horizon before they entered. A strong wind outside must have blown them over the sun more quickly than he expected. The sudden lack of light caused a shudder to run down his spine. Must be the chill air in the damp, he told himself. It certainly wasn't fear. It certainly wasn't the deep sensation of horror bubbling in his stomach that was threatening to find its way out in an embarrassing scream.

"Mr Tekka?" Rey's voice sounded strong and sure, even as she tentatively made her way across a floor strewn with rubbish. The ringing tone was enough to snap Finn's mind back to the present and centre him. He had to pull it together. He'd been through worse before and Rey was expecting him to have her back, not have a freak out because he was scared of some empty, old building.

Pressing his lips firmly together, Finn stalked forwards. There were at least two paths that seemed to lead straight to the back of the building, dissecting the work benches into threes. Rey was taking one to the right, so Finn stated to make his way down the other side. He ignored the way the floor crunched under his feet, telling himself it could be all manner of things – dead wood and leaves, rusted metal parts – maybe even animal bones.

By increments, however, he became aware of a low buzzing noise. At first, he wondered whether it was maybe the sound of his own blood rushing through his head. Perhaps he hadn't managed to calm himself as effectively as he thought? With every step forward though, it seemed to grow slightly louder. Then, with the beam of his own flashlight shinning ahead, Finn stumbled as something small and dark crossed into the pool of light. He juddered back, a small cry of alarm escaping his lips.

Righting himself and peering into the gloom, Finn shone is light in the same place. He felt more prepared this time, less liable to shriek like a six-year-old girl. A creature flew by again, helping Finn to understand that was he was seeing and hearing was likely a small group of flies.

With each step he took in the direction of the noise, the murmuring became slightly louder, inexplicably more menacing. The loss of what little sunlight could make it through the smeared, clouded glass of the windows (or cardboard where the glass had long since been smashed) dulled the room into a strange monotone of grey. Finn advanced a couple more steps, desperately ignoring his instinctive sense that he was about to find something he really wouldn't like.

He could see more of the flies drifting up and down behind a bench just ahead. Steeling what remained of his determination, he strode forwards and tried to emulate Rey's seemingly inexhaustible supply of bravery. This lasted until his foot collided with something soft. He jerked backwards and then suddenly became aware that his shoes had landed in a wet substance. He pulled his foot away, realising that it was also be slightly sticky.

Finn wanted to tell himself this must be some sort of spillage – maybe glue or another substance they'd used in the construction of who knew what here. Except that wouldn't explain the slight iron tang in the air. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to look down.

Closing his lips firmly, Finn shone the torch downwards and immediately saw that he had walked into a pair of…feet. A vaguely hysterical part of him wondered how a pair of dismembered feet could have got here. Then his common sense returned and he realised that there were a pair of legs attached and that they must belong to a body lying prone behind the desk. He noted the trousers appeared incredibly worn and mud spattered, whilst there were no shoes to be seen – only socks so filthy and full of holes, Finn wondered if there was any point in keeping them.

Given what Rey had said, Finn was forming a strong conclusion as to who this was.

Steeling his nerves again, Finn stepped over the feet and swung himself to the left so that he could observe the whole body. "Jesus fucking Christ." He couldn't help it. A wave of sickness like nothing he'd felt before washed through him. He'd been expecting to see a face, instead all his could see was a bruised, bloody mess where identifiable features should be. The man's arms appeared to extend at unnatural angles – as though he were a doll a petulant child had thrown down and smashed.

There was an even larger pool of blood around the man's head and Finn could just about see snatches of silver grey hair. He'd drifted in the horror and not realised Rey had heard his exclamation and rushed over. Finn nearly jumped out of his skin when she gasped next to him and clutched to his wrist. "Oh my God. It's Mr. Tekka. It must be."

She scrambled past Finn, seemingly headless of the gore and fished for a plastic glove from one of her pockets. Pulling it on, she carefully reached for where Tekka's neck must be. Finn expected Rey to express some form of grief, but instead she frowned and gazed up at him in disbelief, "I wish I was better at this, but I think there might be a pulse!"

"Rey-"

"We've got to get him an ambulance right away-"

"Rey-"

"Can you get your radio-"

"Rey! Listen to me!” She stopped mid-sentence, surprised at the strength of Finn's outburst. "Rey. Think about this. Is this guy homeless?"

"Yes…"

"He's got no one that'll miss him?"

"I said that."

"But he's local – like he's been around here for a while. The amount of time someone would probably know where he hangs out."

"I don't-"

"Rey. Look at the injuries. Look at the victim's profile. For fuck's sake. This is Kylo Ren. This is his latest kill and we have walked in at a point where this guy is _still alive_."

Finn didn't need better lighting to know that Rey's face had washed of colour. "Do you think he's still here?"

Spreading his arms, Finn shrugged, "I didn't see another car when we came in?"

"That's not enough. This is a huge building! There could be other places for a vehicle, other access routes."

Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, Finn tried to ignore the sweat building at his hairline and across his upper lip. Freaking out would not help them now. "We gotta get back to the car to call for medical assistance. I don't know if you can fix it, but I don't think this radio is working in here? I checked earlier, but cell phone reception is out as well." Obviously. Because Finn's life needed to resemble a B List horror movie to the best of its terrifying ability.

Rey took the device off him and fiddled with it for a few seconds. Finn caught the brief rustle of static before she latched it back onto the holster around her waist with a huff of frustration. Her eyes drifted back down to Tekka. "It's not working, but there's something in the car that can amplify the signal - that might be enough. We've got to do something quickly, but I'm worried. We can't leave him. When if Ren is still around? What if he knows he's not finished the job?"

Neither of them wanted to say it, but Finn could feel the questions lingering anyway: What if he's right in this room, watching us? His hand drifted to his gun and he realised that Rey had done the same. "There's only one answer then – one of us will have to stay and the other one is going to have to get back to the police car."

Rey gazed at him for a moment and then they both said at the same time, "I'll stay."

Finn raised an eyebrow, placing his free hand on his hip to square off for an argument. "Rey, seriously. You and I both know that I struggle to use that radio. You'll know what to say. How to describe where we are. I've got no idea. What I can do is stay here and keep your friend safe."

He saw Rey open her mouth once or twice, but Finn’s logic was clear. "I'll be a couple of minutes. I'd move him to the vehicle, but I'm scared we could make his injuries worse."

"The best thing we can do now Rey is stop talking and get some help."

She nodded, expression hardening with resolve. "Just watch your back, Finn. I saw that guy's eyes after he murdered Han and there was something in them… He was like an animal with the bloodlust."

"Rey, it'll be fine."

Finn should have known that was the worst thing to say, that things were never fine for the person who promised they would be. Perhaps Rey wouldn't have left if she'd known those would be the last words she'd hear from Finn for months. Or perhaps they were the only ones he could have said, otherwise both would likely have been frozen – paralysed at the thought of splitting up, but unable to give a voice to this new sensation of protectiveness.

\---

 _'God made you mean, twisted and torn,_  
_Shot full of holes since the day you was born._  
_You dropped the hammer; you pulled the pin;_  
_And given the chance, I bet you'd do it again.'_

\---

"You're covered in blood," Hux's nose was upturned at the mess.

Kylo raised a lazy eyebrow, unimpressed at this comment from a man who revelled in gore. As if reading his mind, Hux continued, " _I_ don’t bathe myself in the body fluids, Ren."

Kylo shrugged, reaching out for the cheap towel Hux had brought from their van. He'd need to completely strip off and then they'd burn the whole lot. It was strange, having Hux with him like this. To date, the only victim they'd observed together had been Dameron. Kylo couldn't decide whether he liked having someone there, watching him as he slumped down off the high.

It wasn't ideal timing. They both knew it was a waste of valuable time when they could have been getting out of the state, but Hux wanted to lie low and Kylo was way too pent up for that. One kill, he'd said. One more buzz and then he'd be good, ready to spend some time processing what he'd done to his father, trying to unpick the frustratingly complicated emotions swirling around his stomach at the thought of the shocked expression on his father's face as the knife sank into soft flesh.

They'd cleaned each other up after sex, but this felt strangely more intimate and exposed. Hux had watched him bludgeon that stupid old man, watched as the blood spattered across the filthy floor of this miserable old building. Now he was handing him wet towels and appraising Kylo with a cool gaze. A strange sensation of vulnerability crept into Ren. Had it put Hux off, finally seeing this part of his nature? Would he feel a creeping sense of revulsion if he watched Hux smother a child?

Now, as the tension soared, they were finally being forced to see the true side of their natures. You couldn't glamorise the sound of wet, sunken flesh. You couldn't shut out the whimpers or the half-formed pleading. Hux didn't seem like he was having second thoughts. His hands had been steady as he took the dirty garments from Ren, stuffing them into an empty metal bin they could drop a match into without fear of starting a much bigger blaze.

Ren was just about to pull a blood-soaked black top off when his ears picked up the shriek of rusted hinges. His eyes flashed to Hux, who nodded silently to indicate he'd heard the same thing. Together, they crept softly towards the factory floor where his victim's cooling body lay. They were protected from view from a tattered plastic sheet covering the doorway. Hux had drawn a knife, plastering himself against the right side of the doorframe. Ren took up position on the left, hardly daring to breathe as they listened.

"So who is this guy anyway?"

A memory stirred to life inside Kylo's head. He recognised that voice… Pressed as close to the doorway as he dared, Ren peered into the gloom of the factory floor. In the pockets of light scraping through grime-ridden windows he could make out two shapes – a man and a slim girl. As they continued their irritating chatter, Ren's mind whirled frantically from memory to memory. Then it hit him. His father's death. They'd been there – outside the motel. The girl. She'd chased him, but not before he'd seen the first stirrings of a hunter's instinct in her eyes – her own realisation as she looked at Kylo that she would have killed him – maybe with her bare hands – if she could catch him.

Kylo forced himself to concentrate; he knew they were going to stumble across the body any second. He could have kicked himself for leaving it so out in the open, but how were they supposed to know anyone would come looking for the doddery old fool? With a sharp jerk of his head, he signalled to Hux that it was time to get outside. They needed to make some plans quickly.

Together they picked their way across the debris-ridden floor to a hole in the external wall. Neither of them made a sound as they went and he couldn't help the smirk that twisted at his lips when he thought of the two having blundered into such danger.

Once Kylo was satisfied they'd moved far enough away from the building, he hissed, "They're cops. I recognise them."

Hux shrugged, "Does it matter? They haven't seen us. We should leave now."

Kylo shook his head, "If we leave now, they'll have this reported in minutes. In about 15 minutes, every available cop is going to be swarming down here. They'll have the roads blocked off quicker than we can get out. We need to silence them. Besides, I thought you'd sworn vengeance on the fools hunting us after they released your picture to the media?"

The slim man in front of him fixed Kylo with a penetrating stare. "Don't try and lie to me, Ren. There's more to this. You know that I want those kills to be very specific and that specifically mentioned not rushing into anything stupid. How do you even know they’re involved?"

Taking a step forwards, Kylo snarled, "We _don't_ have time for this. They were there when I killed my father. They tried to chase me down. Is that _specific_ enough for you?"

Hux snorted in the humid air, but Ren knew he was thinking it over. "Assuming I say yes, you want to take both of them out?"

Ren tugged a gloved hand through his dark hair, pacing for a short moment as he weighed up the calculations. "I think we could take longer with the girl… You should have seen her eyes, they were alive with a thirst for blood and violence and she didn't even know it. Not here though. If we can, kill the other idiot and take her. But, if not," he shrugged lightly, "we can't afford luxuries. We need to move now and shut them up before they have chance to call for help. Otherwise this whole area is going to be swarming."

Hux’s hands were by his sides, clenching into fists and then out again as he warred for mastery over his anger as Ren spoke. How dare Ren address him with such contempt? He wanted to reach out and wring him by the neck, try to shake the red mist from his mind so that he could think straight. However, the more he considered Ren's words, the more Hux felt he had a point. They would need as much lead time as possible to get out of the state and safe across into the rural areas of the next.

It might have been possible before their photographs had been circulated by every local and national newspaper and television channel. Ren was right when he pointed out Hux had somewhat dramatically sworn he had a score to settle with the FBI over that. Maybe slaughtering these two would go some way to making his point.

"Fine. What do you propose?"

"We need to find their car. If they've not already come back out, we need to destroy the radio equipment in there so they can't call for help. Phone signals around here don't work. They'll be isolated and then we can hunt them down quickly and get the fuck out of here."

Lips pressed together in a grim line, Hux nodded. "I didn't hear the engine, so I assume they've parked around the front. Once they find the corpse, I bet they'll split up. One will come out for help, the other will stay in. You need to stop them calling anyone with the radio."

Hux grimaced, "There won't be enough time for me to cause that kind of damage. Whatever you do in there, make it loud enough that anyone who comes out feels an urgent need to… return." Hux's lips twisted into an unpleasant sneer.

Kylo couldn't help dragging his eyes down the length of Hux's body, particularly enjoying the way his pale fingers were resting around the handle of a large machete. The terrifying blade was tucked innocently away in a black sheath, awaiting the moment when its sharp edge could bite and sink through soft matter.

He shuddered, but through desire rather than revulsion. After everything that had happened, they were finally going to hunt together and the adrenaline coursing through his body was giving him a high like never before. This was going to be euphoric.

\---

Pressed into the ground in the midst of a dense thicket of vegetation, Hux watched the main door of the building. Seconds later, a young-looking girl with her hair twisted into brown braids rushed out with a frantic expression on her face and blood smeared across her hands. Looked like Ren predicted their movements with pathetic ease.

Hux felt a strange, smug buzz overcome him when he remembered the way Ren had melted back into the shadows of the building. He was going back into the main building for the male who'd been left behind to guard a dead body. With any luck, soon there would be two corpses in there and sad and rotting with no one left to watch over them.

What a satisfying image.

A peculiar mindset overtook Hux as he lay with the smell of earth around him. It took him back to his gruelling military training and his even more gruelling deployments overseas. A plan was all well and good, but Hux needed to start thinking of contingencies if Ren couldn't come up with the goods on his side of things. Hux needed to know what he was going to do if the girl successfully made it to the vehicle.

He heard the soft crunching of mud and gravel as the girl's feet pounded across the large driveway. There would be nothing for it, if she got into the car, Hux was going to have to neutralise her. Hopefully she'd be so out of it she'd leave the door open and he could strike savagely and swiftly. He'd go for debilitation, but his risk appetite was nowhere near as high as Ren's around this. He didn't care about her personally and felt that trying to affect a smooth getaway with an unwilling captive was going to make life extremely difficult.

The girl had just set her messy hand on the driver's door handle when an agonised scream echoed from the main building. Hux smirked. That hadn't sounded pleasant. She gasped a word, "Finn!" and hesitated – conflicted about whether to call for help or return to her stupid partner. Weighing everything up with cold logic, the sensible thing _would_ have been to get that assistance – extra guns and ambulances – that kind of handy stuff, but she clearly wasn't thinking with any kind of logic… It was all emotion and Hux could watch them play across her horrified face, as she faltered on the spot and then raced back.

Absolutely pathetic what nobility and love did for you. She had, at least given him one very useful advantage. As her indecision hovered, she'd half opened the door and then lost her nerve, leaving the vehicle open to him. Hux would have been lying if he'd claimed not to be relieved. If he'd had to smash his way into the car, that probably would have made a lot of unwelcome noise.

As it was, he slithered out from the undergrowth and raced over to his ready-made welcome. Slipping inside, he settled on the seat and took one look at the innocent radio bleeping at him in the sleepy, hot air. With practised ease, he started work – first removing the front display panel and then using two of his favourite knives to leaver the actual electronic device out from its snug resting place on the dashboard. It took several minutes and he was sweating with exertion by the end, but it was deeply satisfying when the small object dropped into his waiting hands.

Without stopping to think why exactly, Hux replaced the display panel so that it wasn't immediately obvious what damage had been done. Placing the radio on the passenger seat, Hux scrabbled around for a button that would release the door to the trunk. He needed to check there were no other phones and no spare devices in this vehicle.

A few minutes later, he was satisfied he'd conducted a thorough sweep and found nothing more of interest. He slipped out, taking the now useless radio with him, and leaving the driver's door exactly as was – no sense in tipping anyone off straight away that someone had been there.

He plunged deeper into the undergrowth with his prize, reaching a small, boggy creek a few metres away from the main building. The water was a filthy, muddy brown and would have the double advantage of both hiding the device and causing irreparable damage. A less cautious man would have dropped it without thought, but Hux lowered it down soundless to its watery grave. Sloppiness over the small things soon led to sloppiness over bigger details and before you knew it, that was how these clowns caught people. It only took one screw up.

Carefully, Hux shuffled back through the undergrowth, ready to find out what was taking Ren so long.

It turned out though that both his caution and speed had been well warranted. Concealed from view, Hux watched with a sinking heart as another car pulled up to the old factory. It wasn't an official cop car, but Hux couldn't think of anyone else who'd want to come down to this dump. He stayed low, shuffling slowly forwards on his knees and elbows so that he could evaluate how many new arrivals there were and what kind of threat they'd pose.

When the short, stocky figure with a pile of thick dark curls came into view, a strange flicker of fury and desire washed through Hux. What were the chances? There, standing alone with no idea of the carnage he was about to walk into, was their lost quarry – Special Agent Poe Dameron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Meet Me on the Battlefield_ , Svrcina  
>  _God Made You Mean_ , Jace Everett - My interpretation of the lyrics.


	20. Chapter Twenty: War Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The showdown continues. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely feedback. =)

**Chapter Twenty**

**War Paint**

_'I've finally found my place;_  
_I put the war paint on my face_  
_And I'm ready to give_  
_Whatever it takes.'_

\---

It was taking every ounce of Finn's willpower to avoid freaking out as Rey shot him one final look before legging it back towards their car outside. In moments, her pale skin slipped from sight and then all Finn had for a few more precious seconds were the echoing sounds of her footsteps. As those started to fade, a loneliness like he'd never known before started to creep over him.

He felt hyper alert, as though the lack of light were forcing all his other senses to overcompensate. Especially his ears, even the tiniest noises could have been as loud as explosions. The rattling wheeze from the man dying at his feet, the creaks and groans of settling wood and metal, the odd flutter of a bird's wings from outside the broken windows. Every single one made him jump and a surge of adrenaline race through his body.

It was probably a good thing that he'd insistently kept hold of Poe's jacket for so long before their difficult parting earlier because, along with sound, his sense of smell seemed more acute. Sure, the strongest scents were those of blood and decay; Finn could practically taste the tang of his own sweat, but underneath all of that – in occasional flashes – Finn was sure he caught the smell of Poe's aftershave lingering on his t-shirt.

Okay, he wasn't some hot shot agent, all trained for these dangerous types of scenarios like Poe, but if he lost his nerve now… That would be letting Poe down. Worse, it would be letting Rey down. He didn't want to be standing here alone, guarding a dying man, but he wanted to abandon his friends even less. Finn had a job to do. If it had been Rey or Poe standing here, they wouldn't have been worried about whether their nerve was going to hold. They'd just get on with it.

Pressing his lips together, Finn nodded to himself and gathered together the shredded scraps of his courage. Widening his stance for better stability, he pulled his gun out of its holster. The trembling in his hands was barely noticeable… All he needed to do was stand firm and Rey would be back in a few minutes. She'd tell him help was on the way, that someone was coming with an ambulance and lots and lots of portable lights to chase away this horrible darkness.

Whilst Finn was alert, his focus was scattered. He was so fixated on the idea of not abandoning his post that he missed some of the slight noises Kylo made on his approach. Mostly the killer's footfalls were silent on the dusty floorboards, but there was the odd whisper of fabric – there had been soft dragging when he'd picked up the bloody club casually tossed to the floor only minutes earlier.

Perhaps if he'd had proper field training Finn might have picked up on those things; he might have noticed the gentle brush of air as Kylo approached from behind him. On the other hand, perhaps Kylo would have bested even the most well-trained agents.

Either way, one moment Finn had been peering through the gloom and waiting for the return of Rey's familiar silhouette. The next he was bent over with his head swimming from a heavy blow to his temple. Initially, he was too shocked to make a sound, then the pain caught up with him and he uttered a hoarse shout.

The world swam before his eyes and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. The next blow landed on his outstretched hand, the one he'd thrown out to an old wooden desk to help keep him upright – the one currently holding his gun. He whimpered as the force seemed to crackle through the bones in his fingers, but didn't drop the item, knowing in some part of his subconscious that this was his best chance for survival.

From behind, he heard a frustrated sigh and then something struck his hand again and again. Before he had chance to react, whatever was being used as a tool to deliver these blows struck his ribs. Eventually, the pain became too great to ignore and his broken fingers trembled lightly. The gun fell to the floor with a doom-laden thud. Without warning, another massive blow to his temple struck. This time he was blinded, falling to his knees with a choked cry.

Instinctively reaching to cradle his head and protect his temples from further blows, it took Finn a few dull moments to register someone was approaching behind him. It had been dark in the abandoned factory before, but his vision was starting to swing between shades of grey and an impenetrable blackness of a different kind. Finn's survival instinct screamed that he needed to pull back from the precipice, that he needed to find his feet, but he couldn't find a way to fight past the damage to his body quickly enough.

He felt the presence behind him – with his eyesight swimming and his ears still resounding from the force of the blows to his head – it was the smallest sensations that betrayed the killer. The rush of stale air as he approached, the slight increase from his body heat as he knelt next to his victim. Finn allowed himself to blink, waiting any second for the violence to recommence – another strike, a blade at his throat, anything. With an almost suicidal trace of hysteria, he found himself willing Kylo Ren to get on with it.

Then Finn remembered there was an old man lying next to him, lonely and in pain to whom he was supposed to be providing comfort. He remembered that Rey was outside and there was a madman in here he needed to warn her about. It wasn't so much his life flashing before his eyes, as his mind reminding him of his responsibilities, of some reasons why he might choose to make a last stand, rather than accept his fate so passively.

Finn was considering trying to thrust an elbow back into Ren's stomach, but then his shifting gaze wandered to the floor. Nestled among the debris, a slight glint caught his attention. His eyelids fluttering, Finn tried to bring the object into focus. It looked like it might once have formed part of a window. A narrow strip of wood with small shards of glass poking out. He might have lost his gun, but fortune hadn't abandoned him yet.

Whilst Finn had been contemplating his newfound weapon, the first moment when he might have acted passed. He heard a scrape of metal and then another blow to the back of his unprotected head. Finn fell forwards, a hoarse shouting forced from his mouth as he scrambled to catch himself on his palms. Although the resurgent pain was almost unbearable, the last remaining scraps of logic told Finn that his fall had given him perfect cover to seize hold of the glass-studded club.

The fingers on his remaining good hand shook as they closed loosely around his unexpected lifeline. He tensed when footfall told him his attacker was drawing nearer. Finn fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, petrified at the thought of enduring another blow. Instead, with cruel efficiency, the protective vest Finn was wearing was stripped from his body. Former Fed, Finn's scrambled brains offered unhelpfully. Most know where all the straps and weak spots were.

The heavy panels fell from him, leaving Finn feeling exposed and fragile. At first, Finn couldn't think about taking his hands off the floor, couldn't remember what it was like to feel balanced, or strong enough to stand. He endured the oddly gentle removal of his protection, but the cool, clinical voice that hadn't given up on him yet told him his time was limited. There was a reason Kylo Ren – because the manner of this beating suggested this was the identity of his attacker – was taking Finn's vest away – and it certainly wouldn't be a good one.

Grasping together all the courage he could summon, Finn forced the fingers of his uninjured hand to close tighter around the wood. Grinding his teeth together with the effort, Finn lifted the item and twisted his upper body – slashing wildly with his left arm as he went. In the gloom, Finn could only make out the rough silhouette of his attacker, but a pained screech suggested he'd successfully made contact. Exhausted by the effort of the strike, Finn toppled forwards, catching himself with a wince on his palms.

What Finn couldn't see was that the jagged shards of glass emerging from his makeshift weapon had collided with Kylo Ren's face, embedding into the skin and lacerating from the corner of his eye to lips in one unbroken, ugly line. Kylo couldn't contain his shock and surprise – instead it slipped from his mouth in an embarrassing, animalistic yelp. The blood instantly began to run down his skin, coating him in yet another sticky, viscose layer. Finn also couldn't see how the violent twist Kylo had made to try and avoid the blow had ripped open and, in fact, worsened the wound in his stomach - courtesy of his father's idiotic friend and his medieval choice of weapon.

Finn couldn't see the way Ren's miraculously undamaged gaze hardened as hot fury ignited in his veins. Unaccustomed to a target who refused simply to kowtow to the strength of his blows, Finn couldn't have noted the moment that Kylo decided the club alone was not going to be enough for this insufferable fool.

He thought sensation in his head was pain; he thought the throbbing of his broken fingers was pain, but nothing could have prepared Finn for the electricity that shot through his nerves when Ren's serrated knife dragged a deep, unforgiving path from his left shoulder, slicing through the fabric of his shirt down, down, down in a diagonal line to his hip. The flesh from his back snagged when Ren withdrew the blade, slow and unhurried.

The scream ripped unbidden from his throat. Finn couldn't have controlled it if he’d tried. His skin was on fire, his body was burning, and there was nothing he could do but sob and pray that at some point he would slip into unconsciousness and it would end.

\---

Nauseous with panic, Rey raced back inside – picking her way without thought across the debris on the floor. The thought that she might be too late circled around and around. That cry. She'd never heard anything like it. If she hadn't known Finn was inside, she might have thought it was an animal.

Biting her lip, Rey forced herself to calm down and draw her gun once she progressed further into the hall. Her eyes struggled to adjust with the changes of light and the shadows around her seemed to lurch and bubble into strange contortions.

She passed row after row of wooden desks, methodically checking down each line in case something had changed. Step after step drew her nearer to the area she'd left Finn and an indescribable dread grew in her stomach at what she would find. It was clear no one was standing up there… which meant Finn was probably on the floor… Unconscious and incapacitated at best. And at worst?

Forcing chin up and her stride to become more confident, Rey rounded the last corner with her gun pointed around stomach height. Whatever happened, she would deal with it. This was why she became a police officer, what her training was about. To protect life. And she couldn't protect Finn or Tekka if she allowed her fears to rule over her judgement.

Rey would have been proud of the way her hands only trembled slightly, but she didn't have time. Instead her gaze widened with horror as a low voice rumbled, "It seems we've reached an impasse." Kylo Ren – it must be him – knelt behind Finn. Finn's body was almost draped against him and his head was resting on one of Ren's shoulders. Rey could make out the jut of his chin and could see the faint light picking out the angle of his cheekbones because Ren had forced Finn's head back, almost to right angles with a serrated knife resting at his throat.

His lax position nearly made Rey panic that he was already beyond help, but her eyes were growing sharper and she could just make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the rasp of his breath.

"What are you going to do now, little girl? You can shoot me, but I'm confident I'll mortally wound him before you kill me. That, and there's a nasty little cut on his back that might need some attention soon. I suppose you could let him bleed out and then shoot me… The choice is yours."

\---

 _'As long as my blood runs red,_  
_Racing through my veins and my heart's still beating;_  
_I will fight until the end,_  
_Even if I'm crawling on my hands and knees and bleeding out.'_

\---

Hux watched in silence as Dameron examined his surroundings, moving first to the empty police car driven by the girl and her idiot companion. They were lucky. Dameron had missed the girl coming out and dashing back in by a few seconds. He hoped whatever Kylo was planning would keep her inside and quiet whilst Hux thought about how to remove their newest distraction.

The most important thing would be to keep Dameron out of the section of the building where he might stumble across three (hopefully) dead bodies. The agent clearly wasn't going to drive away, so Hux would likely only have a few seconds to lure him away from this entrance. He was grateful now for the scouting of the building he'd completed earlier whilst Ren was…busy. There was a set of delightfully filthy storage rooms around the back, complete with shelves, shadows, and sheets and sheets of plastic that would make a wonderful playground for hide and seek.

It was risky though. To snare Dameron's interest, Hux was going to have to break cover. He needed to be in an optimal position before that happened. Once again taking advantage of his military training, he plastered himself to the ground and snuck through the undergrowth, skirting the clearing used as a makeshift parking lot. When Hux was happy he was far enough around the side of the building to avoid suspicion, he grasped for a small pebble and lobbed it back away from him into the undergrowth.

The effect was better than he expected; it splashed into a puddle noisily, but not before disturbing some squawking birds. Dameron's response was instant, but boringly predictable. He pulled his gun out and squinted in the direction of the noise. Advancing away from the door into the old factory (and sadly for him, away from his friends who were probably needing any help they could get) Poe peered into the dense forest. "Hello?" he called uncertainly, "is anyone there? Show yourself!"

Hux resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It wouldn't do to get cocky, but he was hoping Dameron was going to prove more of a challenge than this. Taking advantage of the fact the agent's back was turned, he moved rapidly to the rear of the moth-eaten building. There were several smaller buildings tacked on as miserable afterthoughts – the kind of structures that are meant to be 'temporary' but somehow end up sitting for years, looking increasingly worn and pathetic.

The doors here again had already been bashed open – presumably by local youths looking for a safe hideout. Aware this was the riskiest part of his plan, Hux checked once to make sure Dameron was still facing the other way before he made a dash for the building. He plastered himself to the wall by the broken door and waited to spot any exclamation or sound of rushing footsteps that might indicate Dameron had seen him. Nothing.

Scraping another small stone from the ground, Hux chucked this into the vegetation before slipping into the dark entrance of the building. He allowed the wooden frame to shut audibly – not too loud, but enough to hopefully draw Dameron's attention here. Gritting his teeth, Hux allowed his eyes to adjust before advancing on silent feet further into the storerooms. He needed to find somewhere to hide, but that still maintained an excellent vantage point.

Pausing for a fraction of a second, Hux realised he was smiling. He ran his tongue across the back of his teeth, as if anticipating the taste of something delicious. There really was something about surprise attacks that never failed to get his blood racing.

\---

Someone was messing with him. Call it a sixth sense or intuition or spidey senses or whatever, Poe's hackles were raised. Someone had manipulated him around to this door and now Poe needed to make a choice. Did he play along with this and go through or did he go back to where he started? Or was this creepy building just making him overly paranoid and all of these sounds could actually be explained by the light breeze, animals, or maybe even some delinquent kid?

Twisting his lips into a frown, Poe knew in his gut that he needed to follow this lead. There was something off about this place, about Finn and Rey's abandoned car outside. The pair had gone radio silent after Rey phoned in to let a colleague know she as checking up on a local homeless man known to stay in a derelict factory when he couldn't find any steadier accommodation. By chance, Poe had been close by on other enquiries when a call went out for someone to check in. He'd said yes immediately, suspecting that the two were probably chatting away to the man, ensuring he was okay and forgetting about the time. Now he was here, the imagined scenario slipped from his quickly. The atmosphere was eerie and wrong. He tried his personal radio again, but only received static in response. Not encouraging. How were there places still in this country where radios or mobile phones didn't work?

With one hand firmly gripped around his gun, Poe carefully opened the rotten wooden doorframe and stepped inside. The room was gloomy and messy, with the walls and what was left of the windows cutting him off suddenly from the relative light and warmth of the day outside. The soft buzzing of the insects was gone, replaced by the sterile rustle of plastic.

Old dust sheets covered everything, even stretched over what Poe assumed must be stacks of shelves. Rows of them passed down the room, extending a couple of feet above his head height – like a platoon of ghostly, silent soldiers whose clothes billowed softly with the stirring of a soft breeze drifting in through the broken windows.

So many shadows. So many places to hide. Poe did not like this one bit and he was enough of a man to admit that there was a tiny tongue of fear flickering to life in his stomach. It was just creepy, he told himself, because you associated this type of place with loud noises and business, with the hustle and bustle of industrious workers. The quiet and the abandonment made everything seem unnatural.

Psychology lesson over, he advanced a few steps into the room. Deciding he would have to risk keeping his gun held only in one hand, Poe also drew out a torch. Its powerful beam cut through the darkness, sending tiny critters skittering across the floor as Poe disturbed their sanctuary with his methodical sweep up and down the row.

He didn't get much further. The attack when it came shocked Poe with its brutality. He didn't hear the assailant coming up behind him, his only warning when he saw an arm reaching over his left shoulder to clinch his around neck. A second hand went to Poe's right wrist, to the arm holding his gun and best chance of survival. The choke on his throat tightened dangerously, forcing Poe's head to turn awkwardly in a desperate attempt to keep his airway open.

The other hand gripped Poe's wrist mercilessly tight, squeezing painful pressure points and banging it against the splintered wood of the shelving to force him to release the weapon. In the shock, Poe's fingers automatically tightened around the trigger and the gun exploded into life. A bullet whizzed into an opposite wooden unit, causing the dried, rotten wooden to fracture and splinters to fly everywhere. Poe heard himself gasp, "Shit!" and a voice behind him start to say, "You idiot-" before they both were sucked back into the fight.

The recoil from the gun and Poe's own surprise unfortunately worked in his assailant's favour. The gun trembled and slipped from Poe's hand with a heavy clunk of metal. Without waiting for Poe to compute what had happened, the man (because by now Poe was pretty confident his attacker was male) manoeuvred Poe away. Seconds later, Poe heard a dull thud and then the skittering of metal. His heart sank, that meant his best weapon had just been kicked away into the darkness.

Allowing instinct to takeover, Poe abruptly dropped to his knees. The floor was covered with debris, which stabbed uncomfortably into his legs. With a grunt, Poe dug his fingertips into the soft flesh of the man's forearms, reducing the immediate impediment to breathing. Operating almost on instinct, Poe then dropped his left shoulder to the floor. The movement forced his opponent half way over Poe's collapsed back. Then, with a sharp tug on the arm wrapped around his throat, Poe finished the job. He gritted his teeth with satisfaction when he heard the man's back collide firmly with the floor accompanied by a pained intake of breath. He hoped that hurt.

A beat or two passed with Poe ready to jump back into the fray, but the guy didn't move. He just lay on the floor, seemingly stunned with the impact. Deciding he had to take his chance, Poe scrambled on his hands and knees for his torch. He'd dropped that almost immediately as well, but fortunately the light had remained on even with the fall. It carved out a clear triangle of brightness, casting strange patterns on the wall as it picked out chunks of destroyed wood and other nameless, mouldering objects.

Poe had literally just got hold of it and started to sweep the floor methodically for his gun when he felt the gloved hand around his ankle. It jerked him backwards, causing him to fall on his stomach with an undignified 'oof'. The guy was on him in a second, apparently done playing around. Forcing Poe over onto his back, two solid punches followed – one to the groin and one to the stomach.

If Poe hadn't been so busy doubled over in wordless, gasping pain, he would have told the bastard the punch to the groin was enough. It hurt so badly Poe's eyes were tearing up and he curled instinctively into a protective ball. Still not satisfied he'd wrought enough damage, the assailant finished with a firm backhand to the face.

Poe's torch had rolled about half a metre away and it was as the man lay prone, he realised that the light was illuminating the edge of something reflective. The short, slim line of light suggested it was the barrel of his gun, resting innocuously underneath a set of shelving. If Poe stretched out an arm and then twisted himself a bit further, he could possibly touch it with his fingertips.

Revived by the thought of salvation so near, Poe steeled himself to resist again. The man he was fighting had different ideas and appeared keen to consolidate his gain of momentum. He roughly forced Poe onto his back, settling his legs either side of Poe's stomach and ribs. His weight dropped down without warning, causing Poe to choke again as the air was forced from his lungs. A treacherous tingle of fear whispered to Poe that he might just have bitten off more than he could chew here and that he might pay for it with his life.

Gloved hands closed around his throat, pressing down with an efficiency that told Poe he had seconds to get out of the hold before he lost consciousness. Trying to shake off the mental shock of the earlier strikes, Poe reached up and tried to dig his fingers into the soft flesh between his attacker’s thumb and forefinger. At the same time, he shifted his hips upwards and bucked viciously, trying to shake the man out of his stable position above him.

Given his attacker had an extra layer of protection, Poe wasn't sure if his desperate tactics were going to work. Black spots had started dancing across his vision when Poe heard the pained grunt above him and felt the grip around his throat loosen a fraction. He figured he might have kneed the guy in his kidney. Whatever. It was an opening and Poe would take it. Taking a chance, he pushed outwards on forearms above his face. Unbalanced, the man lost his grip and toppled face forwards.

Ready for the move, Poe delivered two vicious elbow strikes to the man's jaw and nose, shoving the body sideways. He took great satisfaction in the crackling impact of bone on bone, as well as the groan of pain his assailant emitted. Bastard. Wriggling backwards in an extremely undignified manner, Poe reached under the shelves with a shaky arm and withdrew his gun. Now he just had to hope this maniac wasn't carrying as well. Somehow Poe didn't think so given all the effort the man had made to disarm him.

Struggling to his knees, Poe forced himself to ignore the throbbing of his injuries and crawled over to the groaning figure. Audibly taking the safety off the weapon, Poe leant over him and placed the barrel under the man's chin, "Shut up and sit up. Don't make any sudden moves."

The man immediately stopped his noises of pain, understanding that the power dynamic had shifted dangerously out of his favour. Poe shuffled back a few inches, removing the gun from under the chin, but keeping it pointedly directed towards the man's heart. He wasn't in danger of missing from this distance.

"Keep your left arm out to the side and take the balaclava off with your right. Slowly. Drop it on the ground as soon as you've taken it off." No movement. "If you don't do it, I will." Poe didn't necessarily want to move closer or do anything that would jeopardise keeping this guy under control, but a terrible suspicion had taken hold about who had just tried to kill him. It was ridiculous. The chances were tiny. But now that the idea had occurred to him, it wouldn't let go. His breathing quickened and Poe told himself to calm the fuck down. It didn't matter who it was. He'd won the fight and was in control.

He heard a laconic sigh and then saw the man's right hand shift as instructed. The moment seemed to extend, like they were in a film and events were being shown in slow motion. Poe's eyes widened as the black fabric was pulled away to reveal pale skin, an angular chin, sneering lips, and then up a straight nose, cold eyes, and a shock of red hair. Forgetting himself temporarily, Poe's mouth fell open. There was no doubt about it. Kneeling in front of him was their primary suspect for the Starkiller case, Armitage Hux.

Hux let the balaclava slip from his fingers, as though he couldn't be bothered to hold it. His gaze was lazy and he beheld Poe with scarcely concealed contempt, as though looking at a bug and sizing up the best way to squash it. For a few heartbeats, neither of them spoke. Finally, Poe knew he was going to have to do something or risk losing the upper hand. Brusquely, he ordered, "Don't move."

He kept his eyes on Hux every second as he got to his feet, one leg at a time to make sure he never lost stability. Their scrap on the floor had brutally reminded Poe that Hux's military training had almost certainly involved copious amounts of hand-to-hand combat. Poe moved back another step, wanting to maintain his accuracy whilst minimising Hux's opportunity to rush him. Poe had never wanted to more to call for help, but he had no radio and there was no chance Hux would let him get a phone out at this stage.

"Keep your hands out to the side and turn around very slowly." A lopsided smile was playing at the corner of Hux's lips. It was unnerving. He gave the impression of tolerating the yapping barks of an untrained, but eager puppy. Mind games, Poe told himself. Ignore them. It didn't matter as long as he continued to follow Poe's instructions.

Poe's mind was racing. The next bit was going to be the most dangerous and Hux's pompous acquiescence wasn't soothing his nerves. Keeping the gun firmly trained at chest height, Poe reached behind him and pulled his handcuffs out of their pouch on his belt with one hand. If he could secure Hux's hands, he would feel a lot fucking better.

Taking a careful step forwards, Poe pressed the barrel of his gun into Hux's back. "Put your hands behind you and don't try anything stupid." The silence around them was deafening; the loudest noise seemed to be the wheeze of Poe's own breathing and the rustle of fabric as they manoeuvred themselves around.

Surprisingly, Hux complied. Poe wasn't going to ignore his blessings and made short work of securing the cuffs around his equally pale wrists. The danger wasn't over yet, but he felt fractionally more comfortable. The handcuffs were an advantage even a trained soldier like Hux would find difficult to work around. "Armitage Hux, you are under arrest for the murder of four members of the Hosnian family and for physically assaulting an FBI agent. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say can and will be used against you-"

"I really don't think you want to do this, Special Agent Dameron."

\---

It was the first time he'd spoken and his voice sounded raspy and thick. Poe wondered if he might have broken the bastard's nose with his elbows earlier. It had certainly looked a bit bruised and swollen when Hux removed the balaclava earlier. Refusing to be riled, Poe pressed on, "-in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and-"

"It's up to you, of course. But if it were me, I might be curious to know why the car used by two of my friends was empty outside. Of course, you've successfully apprehended me, but I was under the impression from the FBI's very informative media briefings that you're on the hunt for _two_ killers."

Poe closed his eyes briefly, praying that Hux was just bullshitting. It should have occurred to him straightaway that Hux might not be alone, that it was strange to find a police car outside empty. Maybe he should have followed his instincts and gone in through the first set of doors instead of following Hux's trail of breadcrumbs to what he saw was meant to be an ambush.

"You're lying."

"Really, Dameron. Look around. Does this look like the kind of place _I_ would come to willingly?"

"You're saying Kylo Ren is here?"

Hux remained passive. Poe turned him around with a forceful push on one shoulder. "I asked you a question."

"What do you think?"

Indecision gripped Poe. He had two clear choices. Walk out of here with Hux, put him in the car and either risk leaving him there and coming back or driving away far enough to get the radios or phones working again to call for backup. The other option was to risk rising to Hux's bait and make a check of the building for Finn and Rey, just to be sure. The thought of harm coming to either of them was unbearable and Hux did have a point. There was a good chance they might be co-located and Poe couldn't walk away with the thought his friends and colleagues might be in mortal danger.

As the thoughts raced through his head, Hux's eyes seemed fixed on his face. He was clearly enjoying Poe's moral quandary. Poe had already decided that he couldn't walk away when a short cry echoed through the building, female and panicked. Rey? It was heard to tell.

"Uh oh. Looks like time might be running out."

Cold fury washed over Poe and he shoved the smirking man back into a set of shelves. He pushed the barrel of his gun back under Hux's chin. "Take me to them."

"Or what, you'll shoot me? I can't imagine the FBI is going to approve of your shooting a suspect in handcuffs at point blank range. It won't look very…proportionate."

"Just do it. The only other option is that we walk out of here and I take you to a police station."

"A good counter. I'm sure you can explain that to your colleagues later when they find two more bodies here. They'll understand that you couldn't possibly have helped them."

Until that point, Poe had thought the only person in the world he could truly, truly hate was Special Agent Terex with his personal brand of insidious manipulation and clear enjoyment taken from preying on the weak. But as Hux stood in front of him, baiting him with Rey and Finn's lives, hatred like he'd never known rushed through Poe. Words like 'evil' and 'despicable' seemed to fall short of describing him as he stood there, tilting his head and feeding off Poe's increasing panic.

"You clearly want me to find them. This building is huge. Your best chance in all of this is to find your partner. Take me to where they are or you won't get any of the things you want."

Hux paused, making a show of thinking Poe's argument over. With a slow movement, he shrugged his shoulders and started to move. "If that's what you want. Hope we're not too late. You put on a good show of being _forceful_ ," it sounded filthy when it rolled off Hux's tongue, "but for all that bravado, it took you a while to make up your mind."

Poe kept the gun pressed to Hux's back, trying to let his mocking words roll of him. He focused on paying attention to his surroundings as they moved forwards. Hux's confidence highlighted their unequal terms again. Hux clearly knew the layout of this place – had likely spent time exploring it – whereas Poe was at risk of losing his bearings and had no idea about useful things like exits or blind spots.

He followed Hux through a few narrow corridors before they emerged into a much bigger space. It looked like this had once been some sort of factory or manufacturing plant. Poe allowed his eyes to briefly dart around the area, before Hux's sardonic voice snapped his attention back, "I left them here, Dameron. I- Oh my. What a situation."

Hux's eyes must have been better than his at adjusting, because it took Poe a few extra seconds to understand what Hux was referring to. A few metres ahead, he began to make out figures. Two on the floor and one standing up. He shoved the gun into Hux's back, indicating they should move forwards. Their footsteps sounded like rolls of thunder in the cavernous area. A cold sweat broke out down Poe's back as his mind eventually made sense of the situation.

Rey stood with her gun pointed towards the figures on the floor. There lay a very unhealthy-looking Finn against Kylo Ren, who had a knife pressed tightly under Finn's throat. Ren and Rey's eyes flickered nervously towards them when they heard the noise.

"Well, isn't this a pretty picture; a good old-fashioned Mexican stand-off," Hux murmured with a sadistic delight, "What _are_ we going to do now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _I'm Dangerous_ , The Everlove  
>  _Blood Runs Red_ , 78rpm


	21. Chapter Twenty-One: Take A Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as ever, for your lovely comments/kudos. Writing this scene and trying to make it (hopefully) clear was one of the reasons it's taken me so long to finish this fic.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Take A Life**

_'I'm always ready for a war again;_  
_Go down that road again._  
_It's all the same._  
_I'm always ready to take a life again.'_

\---

Hux's question echoed in Poe's head. He was right to sneer. His eyes darted from person to person in the room, trying to weigh up their options. With Kylo Ren pushing a wicked blade into Finn's unprotected throat, it was hard to see one that didn't end up with Finn dead and bleeding.

Poe's stomach sank. This was the kind of scenario you had nightmares about and then woke up with a start in your bed, frantically reminding yourself that it wasn't real, that it hadn't happened. But this was real and Poe was going to have to get a grip and do some serious damage control.

When he'd entered the room, Rey's eyes momentarily darted his way and he'd heard her gasp, "Poe!" There was undisguised relief in her voice, settling an additional weight on responsibility on his shoulders. They both cared deeply about Finn and being forced to watch him slip away was tantamount to torture.

"Special Agent Dameron, how nice to see you again." Kylo's voice rumbled deep and low, causing hairs to raise on Poe's arms. The rich, unsettling timbre sent his mind racing through horrible memory after memory. Poe could only wonder how he'd not recognised it straight away at the abandoned church. Maybe the mask Ren had been wearing had altered his voice? It hardly mattered now. Poe was face to face with one of his blackest nightmares.

"Ben. I can't say the same."

Kylo's face – which was also entertaining a dramatic diagonal cut across his features – became even more disfigured as he snarled with rage and the knife pressed harder into Finn's skin. "That name is dead to me." Then his focus shifted, as though becoming aware of the trickle of blood running down Finn's neck and the girl a couple of metres away staring furiously at him. The anger disconcertingly melted away as soon as it had erupted, "You've not introduced me to your new friends."

Poe was about to snap that wasn't necessary, but Rey – passionate and independent as ever – beat him to it, "My name is Rey and the man you're trying to murder is called Finn. If you let him die, I _will_ kill you." It was too late to explain that names and personal details gave power in situations like this and that Poe would have preferred anything than drawing the attention of these two killers closer to his colleagues, but he respected the fact Rey didn't want anyone to speak for her. Her growled promise even made his blood run slightly cold.

"Fascinating. You like the idea of killing me, don't you? It makes your blood sing and you feel alive like nothing else."

"You're hurting my friend."

"Be honest with yourself, Rey. Your eyes are shining like lamps in the darkness. It's a rush, isn't it? Your senses heightened, waiting for just the right moment."

"You're a monster!"

Kylo chuckled softly, the sound breaking as Poe spotted the arm not holding the knife slip down to compress his side. "You can't lie to me, Rey. I can see the truth in you. I could teach you – help you understand how to embrace a side of your nature no one else could possibly understand. And as for monsters, you're surprisingly protective of a man with a gangland tattoo plastered across half of his back."

As Finn's secrets slipped from Ren's lips, Poe fought to keep the shock from his features. He refused to give Ren the satisfaction of seeing how successfully he'd riled them. A quick glance at Rey revealed the gun was starting to tremble in her hands. Clearly, she hadn't known either. Finn had lied to them. Well, lied to Rey mainly – Poe had been listening in by proxy. It was an ugly thought and Poe forced himself to believe Finn would have good reasons for his actions, for only trusting his new-found friends so far.

Poe already loathed many things about Kylo Ren, but mind games were rapidly moving somewhere up the top of the list. Poe needed to take some control back before he managed to get further inside Rey's head. Fortunately, Hux didn't seem to have enjoyed the disturbing exchange much either because he bit out, "Unless you have any useful suggestions, Ren, I suggest you shut up. You might as well just kill him."

Rey started forwards, "No!"

"Rey, hold your position," Poe barked. "It doesn't make any sense for them to kill Finn – he's the only thing providing cover."

"That's true isn't it, Poe." Kylo smiled, the red blood from the cut on his face dripping down onto his lips to create a horrifying mask of pale skin, gore, and shadow. "As I told the girl, she can try and shoot me and I'll cut his throat. Or you wait for him to die and then you can take us both into custody – the heroes of the FBI." The cynicism in Kylo's voice was so thick it was almost solid. "Or, I suppose there's a third option, you both handover your weapons and let us leave. You might have enough time to save this moron's life."

Poe's mouth twisted with the tension, "Disarm with the two of you around? That doesn't seem like a great offer, thanks."

"Your choice, Poe."

His brain working on overtime, Poe realised he'd started talking – not fully conscious of what he was saying, but desperate to find a solution that would give them enough time to get Finn medical attention. Preserving life – that had to be the paramount focus. "Alternative suggestion. Rey will disarm and you move away from Finn." He ignored Rey's explosive noise of dissent, "I keep my gun on your… partner and escort you both outside. You take your vehicle and you leave. I'll give you a ten minute head start before we get medical help for Finn and then I start hunting you down like the animals you are."

The pathetic baiting and bantering fell away. Poe was grateful for this but also conscious that Ren's gaze was fixed in his direction, likely on the face of his incapacitated buddy. He didn't like the idea that they were engaged in a silent discussion, weighing up the worth of all the lives in this room.

Poe had no idea how long this twisted relationship had been going on, but it felt like they were close – close enough to understand how the other was thinking, how to twist situations to their advantage. It made him unbearably anxious and desperate to get them away from Finn and Rey. They didn't deserve to be caught up in this. Maybe Finn had been right to talk about walking away. This whole case was a twisted, car crash.

Still, they didn't hold all the cards. Finn's life was in the balance, but it would do them no good to let him die if they wanted to stay free. Repeating that helped Poe to maintain his calm and focus. The power and bargaining chips were not all on one side, he just had to think carefully and work out how to maximise their leverage.

Seconds past before Ren eventually looked away from Hux's face, "Consider your offer accepted, Dameron. Now tell your little guard dog to stand down."

Rey's expression morphed to one of fury, "Guard dog?! I am going-"

"Rey, please," Poe called softly, "For Finn's sake, you need to put the gun down. We have to help him or he's not going to make it." He had to trust that any budding feelings Rey might be nursing for the unconscious man, as well as her own strong moral compass would enable her to see the advantages here. If they could just get that knife away from Finn's neck, it would give them a much better chance of tackling the two killers.

She evaluated him coolly, "I don't like this." She spread her arms slowly, watching Ren for any suggestion that he would take advantage of the change in her position and attack Finn regardless. He didn't move, so Rey began to lower the weapon towards the floor.

"Disarm it," ordered Kylo in a rough voice. "I'm not an idiot."

Frowning, Rey made an overly dramatic show of releasing the clip of bullets from the gun. They clattered to the floor and Poe had to force himself not to startle he was so on edge. "Kick them away." Rey complied, biting her lip with barely disguised fury. "Now drop the gun and kick that away too." They all listened to the sound of skittering metal in silence, the gun disappeared into the darkness of the abandoned factory, temporarily lost to the debris on the floor.

"Your turn," Poe spoke up, keen not to lose the momentum now things were shifting, "Get the fuck away from Finn." Kylo's heavy-lidded dark gaze moved his way, reminding Poe of innumerable classroom-based lessons where he felt that heat follow him around almost constantly.

It was taking every ounce of his courage to maintain a façade of confidence. He couldn't think about anything but getting them all out of this with as little damage as possible. An idea was fermenting in Poe's mind that if he could get Ren far enough away from Rey and Finn, he would be able to shoot him somewhere non-fatal - the shoulder, the knee, whatever. Perhaps Hux was uncannily perceptive or perhaps in his intense anxiety to protect those he cared about, the hand holding a gun tight against Hux's back trembled away briefly. In a snarl that was barely audible, Hux promised, "If that guns moves again and I think you're going to attack my partner, you're going to regret it. I'm sure I can keep you busy enough that he'll have time to arm again and stick that nice big knife into heroic Finn's broad chest."

Without ceremony, Kylo shoved Finn's listless form from his front. Poe, turning over Hux's threat and trying to work out if he could take a shot, was glad it was dark because he didn't want to see how much of his friend's blood might have been absorbed into this monster's clothes. He watched Finn's face closely, noting minute twitches and grimaces in his expression that tentatively confirmed he was still alive. He slipped down into a broken heap that made Poe's heart ache; he didn't dare look at Rey.

"Get up, slowly. Keep away from Rey or I will shoot you. I'm going to start moving towards the door – you follow, but at a distance. Rey watch your own back and stay away. Remember he's still got a knife."

Glowering, Rey refused to speak but obediently shuffled a few paces away, close to a wooden desk that could be used for cover if Kylo decided to start getting creative with the blade or bullets began to fly. Poe was grateful she wasn't arguing. It would make them look stronger to put on a united front – more concerning to opponents, who, judging from the way Kylo lurched when he stood up, weren't in great shape themselves. He wondered if Rey and Finn had been responsible for that damage and gave himself a second to be silently proud at the fight they must have put up.

Moving with difficulty, Poe picked his way across the room to a main double door. Light streamed around the edges, promising a release from the heavy atmosphere of this room. It reeked of blood, the iron scent adding to Poe's concern for Finn. He remained oblivious to the second body metres away, the unfortunate victim having finally succumbed to his hideous wounds.

He kept his eyes on Kylo the whole time, who advanced with them. He passed Rey without incident and Poe exhaled, allowing a small amount of tension to slip from his body. His mind moved to the next stage of their movements, desperately trying to formulate a plan for when he got outside. Poe's general thought was to incapacitate Hux more thoroughly and then turn the gun on Kylo. Hopefully this would give Rey time to find the bits of her gun and she could come out to help him.

Of course, this relied on Rey almost telepathically following his line of thought, but she was smart. He hoped she wouldn't think he was going to let the pair of them drive off merrily into the sunset after what they'd done to Finn, to so many other innocent people.

They emerged into the warm sunlight, double doors swinging open easily as Poe's back made contact with the splintering wood. He took a quick glance around, noting a non-descript black sedan he'd not seen before and realising that this must be a different entrance to the building. He needed to memorise the plates ASAP – if everything else went to hell, that would at least give them more of a lead than they'd ever have before.

Kylo advanced into the daylight. It was easier to see what kind of state he was in, the cut across his face was still dripping blood and he was paler than usual, his dark hair clinging to his face in sweaty clumps. One hand was loosely gripped around his knife, but the other remained pressed to his side. Wounded. Poe faintly remembered the write up of the Solo murder and recalled that Chewwy admitted to firing his infamous crossbow. Maybe that had done the damage? Or maybe Finn? Either way, it almost didn't matter. A wounded killer was a weakened one and everything tiny advantage mattered.

He jerked his head towards the car, "I take it that's yours?"

Ren's upper lip twisted upwards, as if to silently ask, 'What do you think?'

If he could have done, Poe would have shrugged. As it was, he continued to manoeuvre Hux until he could see the boot of the vehicle in his periphery vision. "Right. Driver’s seat's all yours," he nodded towards Kylo, focussing on separating the pair so that he could take out Hux without risking an immediate reprisal from Ren. Poe didn't care that he was now the only person with a gun. Both men were desperate, well-trained, and dangerous. And they wanted to kill him. Really, really badly.

"Look at me, Poe," Ren chided, lurching a disconcerting step closer, "do you think I'm in a state to drive? You know it has to be Hux; uncuff him."

"I don't think so, buddy. You drive; he stays handcuffed."

Hux, who until this point had seemed content to stay relatively quiet and co-operative (suspiciously so, if Poe thought back on it), chose that moment to interject, "This is getting tiresome."

It turned out to be all the warning Poe had before things started to go very, very wrong.

\---

 _'I love to watch the castles burn;_  
_These golden ashes turn to dirt._  
_Watching as the flames get higher;_  
_I've always liked to play with fire.'_

\---

Considering the muzzle of a gun was resting comfortably against his lower back, Hux's next actions were either the most reckless or the bravest Poe had ever witnessed. The pair didn't need to say another word to each other, working with a synchronisation Poe was forced to admire. Without warning, Kylo swung the arm holding his knife straight out to one side and took another couple of shuddering, quick steps forwards.

Poe's instinct told him to back up and the second his momentum shifted, Hux made his move. He shoved backwards and swung around to the right, taking his back out of immediate shooting range. Kylo forced his battered body to dive to one side, leaving Poe momentarily confused about who to follow. Hux solved the matter for him by driving his own forehead ruthlessly into Poe's temple, his hands restrained behind his back limiting his other options.

The smaller man staggered, bright lights flashing before his eyes, but he didn't drop the gun. His breath left his body when Hux swiftly brought a knee up into his stomach, repeating elements of their fight from earlier and leaving Poe wishing he'd just shot the bastard when he had chance. Kylo made no sound coming around his left – the next thing Poe knew was the press of cold metal against his own throat and a heavy presence on either side. "Drop the gun, Poe."

"It's not in my best interests," he gasped out.

"Either you drop it or we're going to take it from you, go back in that building, and shoot your friends. It depends on how aggravating you make this."

Still bent in awkward position, Poe sighed, "I'll do it and I won't fight you, but please just leave them out of this. They're not a threat to you."

He placed the weapon on the floor and Kylo moved it away from his reach with one foot. "Where are the keys to the handcuffs?"

"In my belt."

"You're going to get them out very slowly and then you are going to release my friend."

Fighting every instinct that told him this was a very bad idea, Poe straightened up with reluctance. Both Ren and Hux were watching him intense focus, signalling that any unexpected move was going to end poorly. For him. Hyper-conscious of the knife, blade dipped in a horrible scarlet, pressing gently into his skin, he reached into the pocket of his utility belt and withdrew the small silver keys.

Hux allowed him to release one wrist, before snatching the keys and stepping back to finish the job himself. "It's about time that fucking charade finished." In a smooth movement, he picked up Poe's gun, dusty with red earth, and tucked it into the back of his trousers. This really hadn't been in line with Poe's calculations, but he'd probably been a fool to think he could do this on his own. Either that, or too much of a coward to risk taking a shot at Ren when there was any chance at all it could back fire onto Finn and Rey.

"Look, I get that begging and pleading with you two is probably not going to get very far, but I am asking you to leave Finn and Rey alone."

Hux sneered at him, casually spinning his handcuffs around one gloved finger, "You seem to be out of bargaining chips, Dameron. There is literally nothing stopping us from killing all three of you. You tried, but let's face it – you're outmatched. You have been since the start."

"Your friend," Poe jerked his head towards Kylo, keeping his motion small to avoid getting cut, "is wounded. Rey will probably put her gun back together soon. Rey's colleagues were already curious about the radio silence when I got here. Your time to get away is decreasing by the second. Someone is going to realise we're not answering our radios or phones."

"We'll make it quick then."

"No! Your quarrel is with me, right? That's what started this mess. Leave them and I'll-" Poe faltered, realising with a sickened lurch what he was about to offer. He couldn't stop; he had to try everything to protect his friends, "I'll come with you. I won't fight. That's what you want, right?"

Beside him, Poe could hear Kylo's breathing rate increase. It was only fractional sign, but it suggested that Kylo was interested, that the idea of Poe willingly handing himself over excited him in some twisted way. "We do need to get out of here," Kylo murmured, stroking his knife against Poe's Adam's apple and scraping against Poe's stubble in a way that made his teeth grate with the forced intimacy.

"You're pathetic." Poe never did work out whether that was directed at him or Ren. It proved irrelevant. "Turn around," he snapped at Poe, "put your hands behind your back." The blade helpfully withdrew a few inches, giving Poe the space to nervously shift around. He hoped this wasn't going to be the moment the knife would slip through his ribs or Hux shot him with own weapon.

No immediate violence materialised, apart from Hux closing the handcuffs bitingly tight around his wrists. He pressed unnecessarily close to Poe's back, pausing only to whisper in his ear, "No ropes this time. Let's see if you can slip these knots."

Dragging Poe roughly around by one arm, Hux withdrew a set of keys from his back pocket. The boot opened at an electronic command, revealing a few practical items inside but nothing Poe could immediately judge as useful for helping to formulate an escape plan. Without another word, Hux reached passed him. His demeanour seemed to have changed, losing the grating superiority complex and instead moving with heightened concentration, every move purposeful and measured. He forced Poe to perch on the edge of the open boot, "Keep the knife on him in case he decides to do something stupid."

Kylo was a little bit overenthusiastic in his obligation, leaving a shallow cut curved underneath Poe's chin. He swallowed his gasp of surprise, refusing to give away any outward sign of his panic or dismay. Poe wondered if he should fight, but if he did, he was highly confident he would end up dead very quickly and then would be powerless to do anything. At least alive he had the tiniest opportunity to change the course of events. Once they were away from Finn and Rey, the situation would be completely different.

Reaching passed him, Hux withdrew a thick role of silver duct tape. He wrapped it with efficiency around Poe’s ankles and then his knees. Poe glanced down, unable to disguise his worried frown, "I said I wouldn't fight."

"And I'm not in the habit of taking risks." Poe wanted to point out that the handcuffs were far too tight and were going to cut off the blood supply, but he somehow thought Hux wasn't going to be that sympathetic. Hux tilted his head to the left, appraising his work with his curiously bleached features. The only spots of colour a pink flush on his cheeks.

He took up the tape once more before ripping off a short section and reaching for Poe's face. Even despite Ren’s knife, Poe flinched back automatically. Hux's smirk was unforgiving as he wrapped a set of long fingers in Poe's hair to hold him in place. "Remember, Special Agent Dameron, this was what you wanted. And what _I_ want is for you to shut up."

There was no further preamble; he pressed the tape over Poe's mouth and followed it up with another layer to be sure. Satisfied he'd done enough to keep Poe under control, Hux then casually backhanded him. With all the strikes to the head Poe had already taken today, this one hurt like a fucking bitch. He tried to straighten up and fix Hux with a glare, but that only resulted into another strike. The tape muffled his cry as this slap also knocked his temple onto the sharp edge of the car frame.

The world was spinning and Poe felt sick and dizzy. "Consider that a repayment for earlier." Together, Hux and Ren forced him flat and shoved his bound legs into the cramped car boot. "If you make a sound, I will personally hunt your friends down and I will make sure that they die in the slowest, most painful manner possible. Do you understand?" He waited for Poe's minute, dazed nod, which was a difficult movement given how his head was throbbing.

Hux slammed the boot shut, leaving Poe alone with his thoughts in the hot, close darkness, terrified above all else that he'd made a series of unbearable mistakes and condemned his friends to die either way.

\---

As soon as Dameron was neutralised, Hux took an unsteady step backwards. Things had come very close there, closer than he liked to admit. It was lucky Dameron and his friends were stupidly obsessed with the noble idea of saving each other's lives and therefore pathetically easy to manipulate.

Kylo took slumped against the edge of the car, his hand creeping back up to the wound Hux knew lurked beneath his ribs. "You don't look good."

"The wound is open again and deeper than before. It might need stitches."

"We can't do that here. Dameron's an idiot, but he's right that we need to move. What do you want to do about the others?"

Kylo briefly opened his eyes. Hux could tell that he wasn't himself and that his fight in the factory had left him exhausted. A strange flicker of emotion sprang to life and it took Hux a moment to understand it was concern. Ren had always seemed like a pillar of superhuman strength, training his body religiously to maintain its speed and strength. He'd never seem him so…vulnerable.

It inspired odd sensations inside him. Naturally secretive and preferring isolation, the idea of Kylo leaving him inspired a curious sensation of relief. On the other hand, an intense wave of loneliness washed through him. The possibility that he would have no one to share his kills with, to gloat to, to fuck out the lows and highs with… It was intolerable.

"Going back in there is risky." Hux read into Ren's words that he wasn't capable of coming with him, that it would be a fight he'd chance on his own. "And we did," Ren emitted a cold laugh, "sort of promise we wouldn't."

Hux shook his head; they both knew that Dameron hadn't really been any position to make demands. He'd got two options – die now or die later. He'd chosen to die later. "We still have your clothes to burn from earlier. I've lost a balaclava somewhere that's going to have to go." Kylo frowned, but didn't disagree. Trust Hux to remember all the small details. Hux lowered his voice, ensuring there was no way their guest would be able to overhear them, "It would be such a shame if a small fire like that got out of control."

Kylo’s only response was a mirthless smile, "It might not burn. The place smelt like it was infested with damp."

"I hear smoke inhalation can be quite fatal too."

Grimacing as the pain in his wound spiked, Kylo shook his head. Hux's utter mercilessness was one of the things that he never failed to find attractive. He'd never met another mind that could calculate destruction with such emotionless efficiency. "I'll leave you to it. But hurry up."

He began to move to the passenger door. Hux gave no sign he'd heard, already moving towards the passenger footwell where they kept a bottle of accelerant, his gloved hand playing with an old-fashioned metal lighter – igniting a small flame again, and again, and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Pray For Me_ , The Weekend and Kendrick Lamar  
>  _Play With Fire_ , Sam Tinnesz


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two: Dead Man Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are - finally at the end. This is the longest fic I have a) written and b) finished posting. =)
> 
> Thank you so, so much for your kind and encouraging reviews - particularly to those who've commented multiple times and hung on since the beginning. If you've reached this point thinking you've read something where Star Wars meets True Detective... then I have achieved my goal. ;) I hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> I would be lying if I hadn't started thinking about a sequel... but given how long this one has taken, I won't be making any promises.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Dead Man Walking**

_'I plead for my peace like a dead man walking;_  
_I plead for my peace and I can't stand more of this._  
_I plead for my peace, as the darkness taunts me,_  
_And I plead for my peace from a past that haunts me.'_

\---

Poe drifted in and out of consciousness, becoming increasingly confused and frustrated with himself as his body refused to respond to the commands of his addled brain. He should be trying to find an emergency release, or banging on the top of the boot, or just something other than lying like a docile lamb heading unconcerned to the slaughter.

But the blows Hux had delivered to his head hadn't been playful taps. No, Hux had meant to do damage both times he'd raised his hand, clearly feeling that Poe owed him some sort of debt.

Dazed and unable to keep his eyes open, Poe lost track of time and couldn't have even guessed how long they had been driving for since leaving the factory. He'd maintained some sort of fantasy about paying attention to the way the car moved, trying to work out if they were on dirt track or smoother motorway, monitoring left turns and right, keeping an ear out for distinctive sounds, but it rapidly became apparent Poe couldn't even keep his recent memories straight.

The only thing he seemed to be able to focus on was praying that he'd made the right choice, that allowing himself to be bundled away by two completely insane serial killers had convinced them to leave Finn and Rey alone. Poe's memories of the building, of his fights with Hux were hazy, but he apparently could recall with perfect clarity the waxen sheen of Finn's skin or the way the pulse in his throat fluttered so weakly against the edge of Kylo Ren's blade.

Eventually, Poe conceded that trying to hold on to what remained of his awareness was a losing battle, instead embracing the regular rocking provided by the wheels and suspension and the hum of the engine. Cocooned in the deceptively safe, dark warmth of the car boot, Poe drifted to sleep.

His return to the waking world was abrupt and unpleasant, consisting of Hux strengthening his grip and hauling him upright by his matted curls until Poe's scalp screamed and he was sure he'd lose a handful of hair. Hux's expression had lost none of its contemptuous edge as he took in Poe's battered and bleary-eyed condition. As his lip curled in disgust, he jerked Poe's head twice, "Get it together and get out of the fucking car, Dameron."

Poe was sure he could feel his brains rattle around his skull when Hux shook him and his vision swarm until there were an alarming number of Hux faces confronting him. And one image of Hux's not-so-charming visage would be quite enough for him on a good day. Poe squinted, trying to focus on the sensation of fresh air across his clammy skin and glimpse of green vegetation to Hux's left. He was encouraged to find it was still daylight - surely that meant only a few hours had passed, not days? A shorter amount of time meant he could hold onto the hope that someone might find him, that he wouldn't have to leave escape up to whatever he could engineer and the sheer dumb-luck gamble of Fate.

Fighting to maintain at least some scraps of dignity, Poe tried to shake Hux's grip and muttered, "Get off me!" Or at least, that was what he tried to say, but the syllables came out in an inaudible mishmash of vowels and consonants, muted by the tape over his lips. Hux's mouth twisted into an even more pronounced sneer, apparently unimpressed by this short, uncoordinated display of defiance. Instead of releasing Poe's pounding head, he pulled the man forwards to the edge of the boot with even more force.

"Work out how to get your feet under you or fall, the choice is yours. Time is of the essence and yours in particular is running short."

Poe glowered once more at Hux, attempting to communicate the extent of his loathing through his dark gaze. Keen not to add to his already impressive catalogue of injuries, however, Poe decided it would be prudent to follow this set of instructions. With difficulty, he managed to swing his legs over the edge of the boot and shuffle forwards until his bound feet were resting on the floor.

Hux kept his hold on Poe's hair the entire time, watching him intently for any suggestion Poe might attempt to bolt or fight back. Poe thought the caution well-judged. His thoughts whirred constantly, trying to weigh up the situation and identify opportunities to obtain weapons or assess escape routes.

"Wait," Hux instructed shortly, "bring your legs back up. You're not going to be any use like that. You get one warning," Hux reached around to the back of his black trousers with his free hand and waved Poe's own gun at him. "I trust you know my background by now. I'll shoot to kill if you try anything and I won't miss."

Poe was tempted to roll his eyes at the dramatics, but instead settled for sullenly turning his head away. There was something especially galling about being controlled by the threat of being shot by his own weapon. He was still smarting from being so thoroughly outmatched by Kylo Ren and his sadistic paramour earlier. H'd been so stupid, so blinded by the desperate need to protect his friends.

Hux withdrew a long switch-blade and made short work of the silver duct tape wrapped around his legs. Poe was tempted to trying kicking out at him, but the risks were too high and he didn't trust his co-ordination. The most it would give him would be temporary satisfaction, the worst would be a bullet somewhere fatal.

Satisfied with his work, Hux grabbed for Poe's hair again and hauled him to his feet. The world swam for a few worrying seconds. Poe's legs felt weak and shaky, causing him to take two or three juddering steps forward. His knees refused to comply and buckled; he instinctively steered towards the nearest object that could provide support – Hux. Poe's self-loathing reached a whole new high as he felt himself lean against the man's chest.

"You're pathetic," Hux bit out, pushing him upright. He withdrew the gun again, keeping it pressed securely into Poe's stomach and using it to shove his captive half a foot backwards. Without removing his eyes from Poe, he reached up for the lid of the boot with a gloved hand and slammed it shut. The sound of the door closing served to jolt Poe back to reality for a moment. With his senses recovered, he glanced side to side, desperately drinking in the scene around him.

They were located on a grassy verge, which sloped significantly downwards. At the bottom, a gently winding river sloped unhurriedly away from its source. Tiny yellow and white flowers sparked out among the greens and Poe briefly savoured the comforting rustling of the grass as a soft, oblivious breeze picked through the stems. Trees dotted the area, offering some cover from what Poe presumed was probably a road back up the top of the slope. Apart from the natural sounds of the vegetation and the odd animal call, the area was silent – no sounds of traffic, no indication that there were any other people in the world except the tree of them.

Daring to glance further, Poe spotted another car parked slightly nearer to the road. A non-descript SUV, it was already dusty and dirty with life on the road. At that moment, Poe's mind registered what was going on. Hux and Ren were switching vehicles. Where the second car had come from, Poe had no idea. He doubted Ren's physical condition would allow him such freedom of movement, which meant Hux had likely procured it. Through theft? Something they'd stashed before? A shady cash-for-car deal?

The possibilities seemed endless, but Poe could feel a sensation of dismay building – every false trail, twist or turn would slow down his friends from following their trail. If Hux had had enough time to get a second car, Poe must have been out for longer than he'd guessed before. Hux and Ren might have been under pressure, but they'd also been doing this for years, which meant they were unlikely to leave unnecessary clues at this point. All of these facts resulted in the worrying conclusion that the trail they left was getting colder and Poe's chances of a swift rescue slimmer. Swallowing, Poe focused on controlling his growing fears, repeating over and over that he'd gotten himself out of this situation before and would find a way to do it again.

"Stop gawping, it's not going to help you. This is an isolated spot and I promise no knights in shining armour are going to come dashing over the horizon."

Without being able to use his most effective weapon – witty retorts – Poe thought he was going to exhaust his range of withering looks before long. He couldn't help but wonder what Ren saw in this man who seemed so incapable of empathy and inflated by his own puffed up ego.

"As you can see, we're putting in steps to ensure the buffoons you work with lose the scent. It shouldn't be hard, but it turns out you can make yourself useful whilst I formulate the most excruciating way to kill you."

 _Some incentive_ , Poe wanted to reply, but settled instead for a dignified silence. "In a second, I am going to release the handbrake on this car and then you and I are going to assist it into its watery resting place."

Poe narrowed his eyes, wondering how Hux could be so stupid as to think Poe wasn't going to try and run if there was enough distance and distraction between them. "I draw your attention to my earlier statement, I don't fire warning shots. Your hands are still tied; you're probably concussed; the way to the road is uphill. I would kill you before you make it more than a couple of metres, but please – do try. It's not often I get to dust off my marksmanship skills."

The two stood for a moment in silence, Poe calculating his options as the hot sun beat down – intense even despite the dappled shade provided by the trees. The trunks and their protruding roots seemed to leer at him, daring him to try and make a run for it with the slim cover and multiple trip hazards they presented. Hux smirked the second Poe's decision registered on his face. It wasn't worth it. He'd been out manoeuvred again.

"I thought you'd see things my way. Stand with your shoulder against the edge of the car and push when I tell you. And be grateful I decided to take you out before dumping this wreck – I quite like the thought of you struggling for breath in a dank, watery cage – maybe something to bear in mind for later?" Poe's face must have taken on an ashen pallor because Hux chuckled mirthlessly. "Definitely something for later, then. Not so fearless now, are we, Special Agent Dameron?"

Thankfully Hux decided he'd finished his tormenting, moving straight on to practical matters. With a show of keeping one eye on Poe, he leaned into the driver's seat and released the handbrake. Exhaling softly, Poe appeased his captor by making a show of pushing the vehicle along its way. Once gravity took hold, they both stepped back to watch it trundle towards its final resting place.

Feeling Hux might be distracted, Poe started to observe his surroundings again to see if there were any unique details he might be able to remember to bring his team back here. The water would probably damage a lot of the forensic evidence, but it surely wouldn't have time to take everything? Poe's desperate hopes were cut short when Hux spun smartly on his heel and drew the gun again, "Turn around and walk back towards the other car. You've been out in the open much too long for my liking."

The thought of ending up in another claustrophobic space filled Poe with dread, but he still saw no way to work this situation to his advantage. He could handle being cooped up again; it wouldn't be forever. Picking his way through the roots and large tufts of grass with careful steps, Poe forced himself again not to resist.

One of the rear passenger doors was open, causing with a jolt to realise that Ren hadn't joined them. Somehow he couldn't see Ben Solo or Kylo Ren or whatever name he used now missing an opportunity to gloat and further inflate his already enlarged ego. That suggested the wounds he'd been carrying earlier were maybe worse that Poe thought. Finally, in amongst this whole shitstorm, he saw a glimmer of hope.

As they neared their new method of transport, Poe's ears began to pick out unfamiliar voices. An illogical hope flared inside his heart that maybe they weren't as isolated as Hux suggested. His ears adjusted to the soft tones and that desperate desire subsided to the realisation that Kylo had the radio on. He was listening to the news, probably trying to pick up whether any new information had been released to the public.

By the time Poe reached the car, the two hosts were still whittering on about whatever theme of embarrassing stories they'd asked listeners to send it. A desperation Poe could not have expressed in words overtook him to find out what was going on in the wider world, what day it was, even what time, so Poe feigned a moment of weakness and leant against the sun-warmed vehicle. He didn't dare look back, keen not to invite any additional attention from Hux and undermine his plan.

Fortunately, they must have been close to the half hour mark because an underwhelming jingle and change of presenter signalled a very timely news broadcast, _"Emergency services are close to bringing a fire at the derelict Jakku Factory under control. FBI and police have yet to confirm whether this latest incident has any connection to the ongoing investigations into reported serial killers Kylo Ren – previously known as Ben Solo, a trainee FBI agent – and Armitage Hux. However, unconfirmed reports suggest at least one body has been removed from the scene."_

At first, the words hung like a confused muddle in Poe's head – the facts set out very different from his last memories of the abandoned building where he'd left Finn and Rey. The mention of Ren and Hux couldn't be a coincidence – that must be where he'd been separated from his friends. But fire? Then another phrase stirred – _'at least one body has been removed from the scene'_.

He swung round, anger like he'd never felt before alive in his stomach. Hux was much closer than he'd realised, clearly having listened to the same broadcast. His face was passive, but his hand remained tight around the gun's grip. He'd been waiting for Poe, waiting for the impact of that news to hit.

It was pointless, but Poe found himself shouting behind the tape. His own stupidity was starting to dawn on him. How could he have been so naïve as to think Hux and Ren would really keep their word? All they cared about was the next murder and keeping themselves outside the reach of the law.

Hux observed him, a cool couple of paces between them, attempting to work out just how stupid Poe was about to be. At once, Poe found his condescending manner and laconic turn of phrase unbearable. When it came down to it, Hux was just like the so-called Kylo Ren – their main problem was over-arrogance and the mistaken assumption that they were somehow above other normal human beings because they'd decided the laws of men did not apply to them.

Unable to catch his breath behind the tape, Poe felt his cheeks grow red. His helplessness couldn't be more apparent. He couldn't even demand some answers from the monster before him, just wait for Hux to decide how to play with him next. Acknowledging the futility, Poe stopped shouting and concentrated on sucking air in through his nose and calming down. Getting overly emotional wasn't going to help anyone – least of all him.

His decision turned out to have been the right one. A little more confident that his prisoner wasn't going to lash out, Hux took the opportunity to advance. His gloved hands relaxed away from Poe's gun and instead reached for his chin. He took hold of the tape and with the briefest smirk, yanked it roughly away from Poe's face. The man couldn't contain a yelp of pain as the adhesive tore away skin and stubble alike in a burning line. Hux, retreating once more, pressed the tape to the fabric to his thigh. It stood out against the black fabric of his trousers, a promise that it was going to be needed again.

"You seemed to have something to say."

"You lied to me! I came with you and you leave Finn and Rey alone!"

Hux widened his stance, eyebrows shooting almost comically high into his pasty forehead. "Firstly, let's be clear. You lost that fight when you didn't just shoot us both straight away – we could have taken you or killed you there and done the same to your idiotic friends." Hux lingered on the word with the expression someone wore upon encountering a bad smell, as though he found the entire concept of an emotional, illogical bond with another human repulsive. "The choice was ours, not yours. If you've let yourself believe you had any influence in the matter, that's your mistake."

Hatred continued to bubble in Poe's stomach, edging upwards from a simmer to a riotous boiling. He turned his head away, unable to even look at Hux for fear of what he might do in this state. "Secondly, should I have made some sort of childish 'promise', you could say it was kept. Ren and I had some evidence to destroy. If a little fire got out of hand and your friends weren't clever enough to save themselves-" Hux shrugged artfully, "you can't always carry out an operation without collateral damage."

"Are you sure they weren't the evidence you were trying to get rid of?"

"I'm not going to mourn the loss of two witnesses, if that's what you're implying."

Poe swallowed, trying hard to shut out the emotionless tone of Hux's voice and the image of his sallow face in his mind. The man was trying to bait him, trying to get Poe to do something stupid so that he'd have an excuse to hit him again- or something worse. Poe had to stay calm; he had to fight the questions in his head wondering whether it was Finn or Rey that didn't make it, arguing that the report could have been inaccurate and there was no body at all.

With some difficulty, Poe forced himself to straighten up and face Hux square on. He wasn't going to cower or show any hint of weakness if he could help it. "I said I wouldn't fight if Finn and Rey stayed safe. There is no longer any incentive to comply with you. You understand that I'm going to fight you every step of the way; you're never going to be able to relax or sleep without one eye open. Do you think you can handle that whilst your buddy in there recovers from that nasty looking cut in his side?"

\---

Hux observed Dameron with the dispassion a scientist might observe an average, uninteresting specimen. The emotions he was feeling flittered across his face, letting Hux read him like an open book. As part of his military career, Hux had undergone extensive training on how to handle interrogations and if he'd wanted to, he was sure he could have cracked Dameron like a nut in a couple of hours. And this was supposed to be the pride of American law enforcement? A little boy trying to extract childish promises from his obvious physical and intellectual superiors. It was pathetic.

However, despite the mistaken supposition that one of his little playmates had died in the fire – and, really, how delicious. Why would Hux disabuse their toy of his assumption? It wasn't his fault Dameron was too dim to notice the corpse and product of Kylo's latest rage session lying only metres away. He assumed that this was the body the broadcast referred to, although he would be keen to find out later if there had been any additional fatalities. He wasn't lying when he said the loss of a couple of key witnesses wasn't going to bring a tear to his eye. Despite his concerns and the early stages of grief, Dameron still managed to pull it back together and display a bit of spine.

Hux was going to dismiss his threat, but he happened to glance back into the dark interior of the car. Ren was upright, but Hux knew his hand was pressed against his side to try and stem the bleeding. Despite their best efforts, the red liquid still hadn't stopped seeping out of his side and a nasty yellow puss was starting to accumulate at one end of the wound. Hux had seen in the rear view mirror the sheen of sweat slowly envelop the visible skin on Ren's face and the way his movements and responses became increasingly strained and sluggish. He'd probably picked up an infection in that filthy factory or from the dirty, decrepit old man he'd chosen to expend his rage on.

Dameron, it transpired, was right. Ren was not in a good state and that left Hux alone and with two lives in his hands. Options flashed before his eyes – he could kill Dameron and abandon Ren, walk away from both and back into splendid, easy, empty isolation; or take Dameron and leave Ren; or kill Dameron and save Ren and on and on the thoughts went. A crossroads in his life and Dameron standing defiant at the fork, challenging his ability to control and make decisions.

It pissed him off. Very badly. His arm snapped forwards, grasping Dameron around the neck, choking off any further pretty speeches. He squeezed harder, enjoying the choking, wet gasps and using his leverage and Poe's growing weakness to force him to his knees. He liked this position a lot more, with this fucking annoying man – the cause of so many unnecessary problems – with no choice but to stare up at him, to squint into the light of the sun.

Using his other hand, Hux withdrew the gun – the delight at using Dameron's own weapon to threaten him still not dulled – and pressed the muzzle against his wonderfully pink lips. Ren had been right about certain temptations when it came to Dameron, but Hux had a much better control of his libido. This wasn't his forbidden fruit. He was tempted to press it into Dameron's mouth, smashing his teeth if he refused to give way, but that was just a little too over dramatic even for his liking. Instead he slid the weapon up Poe's cheek, digging into the wound on his eye before pressing the barrel into the centre of his forehead.

Poe took a deep breath, his loathing for the unending humiliation never clearer. Let him hate it. He put himself here. He could have chosen to die with his dignity, fighting like a man, back in that factory. He'd gambled thinking it could outsmart Hux and Kylo a second time and he was going to find himself wanting. The threat of imminent death was enough to win back blissful silence. Life was so, so much better when the imbecile at his feet stopped talking.

Blowing Dameron's brains out here, right next to their new car, was not ideal, but he couldn't be bothered to shift him now. To give Dameron credit, there was no choking and sobbing pleas for mercy, no pathetic tears tracking through the dusty patches of dirt on his face. The man had simply closed his eyes, as though trying to find some peace with himself and the world before he left it.

Dameron would never realise it, but by closing his eyes at that moment, he'd probably saved his life. From inside the car, Hux heard a rustle of fabric and a small groan. He glanced up to find that Ren had opened his eyes and was leaning forwards to see what was happening outside the car, the features of his face, already twisted by the angry cut, were further marred by a grimace of pain. "Hux," he muttered, squinting and struggling to focus given how bright it was outside compared to the cool, dark interior of the car. "What's going on?"

Using a shaking hand braced against the car door to leverage himself, Kylo leaned further forwards to see better. A sharp intake of breath followed and Hux couldn't tell if that was due to his wound or because of the scene outside. Kylo's dark eyes snapped into unexpected focus, "Hux?" It was only one word, but Ren laced it with such an acute accusation of betrayal that Hux's arm holding the gun wavered. Ren might not be able to talk, but the expression in his eyes told Hux that this would be an easy, cheap way out and that he'd never be forgiven for it.

Hux told himself he had relaxed his finger from the trigger because he believed this was a too quick and merciful escape for the stupid FBI agent. For all the difficulties his lucky break back in that squalid church had caused them, a bullet to the head just wasn't enough punishment. However, if Poe's eyes had been open, he would have seen a different story. He would have seen Hux and understood it was because he couldn't bear the thought of being alone, completely alone. Ren drove him crazy, but they understood one another. Their minds and souls, their view of the world, and their contempt for those they outstripped were a perfect compliment.

He'd pretend to grouse and grumble, but if he shot Dameron and Ren left him – or perhaps they turned on each other – this life, such as it was, would be unbearable. In other words, if Poe's eyes had been open, he would have witnessed the one mortal sin Hux had sworn he would eradicate – vulnerability. And Hux couldn't have allowed him to live with that knowledge, even if the killing would have damned him in Ren's view.

The moment passed and he made a show of rolling his eyes – not that Ren could appreciate the theatre. He'd slipped back against the seat, mouth slack enough to suggest he was unconscious again. Good. Hux needed to deal with one problem at a time. Ren didn't want Dameron dead. Not like this. Hux felt the risk of having a rebellious captive with them at this point was too much. Letting the man slip through their grasp for a second time was galling, but they always did say third time was the charm. And if this was the way things had to go, Hux was going to start planning to ensure it was as excruciating as possible.

He pulled the barrel of the gun away from Dameron's forehead with a sharp jerk. He waited for those pretty eyes to snap open in confusion, before growling, "Consider this a stay of execution." With a sharp rap, he brought the gun down on the already injured side of Poe's head, a thought occurring to him that it wouldn't be so awful if Poe died by accident. It wasn't as though Kylo could hold him responsible for the man having a weak skull.

Poe collapsed predictably forwards, crumpling like a wet paper bag. Hux squatted casually in the red dirt, a cursory once over told him that Dameron was still breathing. What a pity. Now, of course, Hux was going to be left with dealing with the unconscious, dead weight body. Ren's fanciful ideas and quests for vengeance were all very poetic, but it was convenient he wasn't able to deal with the grunt work.

Muttering, Hux began the hot work of shifting Dameron's body back into the boot. They couldn't risk leaving him here and then leading the FBI to their abandoned vehicle. No. Hux would take him a few miles down this dusty, quiet stretch of freeway and then dump him by the side of the road. If Dameron managed to survive the exposure, head injuries, and lack of food and drink, then fine. He could cling to life knowing that every second he'd had since running from his first capture was borrowed time and the clock was always ticking down.

\---

 _'Take me down to the river bend,_  
_Take me down to the fighting end;_  
_Wash the poison from off my skin;_  
_Show me how to be whole again.'_

\---

A warm breeze tickled stray hairs across Poe's face, causing the faintest itch. His eyelids flickered and he attempted to shake his head to stop the irritation. A second gust blew, stronger this time and bringing with it a light dusting of grit. A sense in Poe's head told him this was odd, that he must be sleeping outside and that wasn't in Poe's normal pattern of life. And why was he asleep anyway? He couldn't remember going to bed or even lying down?

Although his thoughts remained muddled, it was enough to send a much needed dose of adrenaline running through his system. There was something wrong and he needed to open his eyes, which proved to be much trickier than Poe expected. Poe was sure nothing was covering his face, but it was like his eyelids were gummed together. He strained to pry them open, succeeding only in glimpsing a blurry white strip of light.

Feeling this was a losing battle, Poe thought instead about sitting up. The intention was there, but his head might as well have been made of lead for how heavy it felt. His neck couldn't possibly support that weight. Resigning himself to staying still for at least the short term, Poe concentrated instead on trying to work out where he was and what he was doing apparently lying down outside.

Had a drinking session gotten out of hand? It seemed unlikely – none of them had been doing much celebrating recently. Taking one deep breath after another, Poe worked to avoid panicking and instead tried to locate a sure memory that he could then work forwards from. It proved to be worryingly difficult.

His thoughts were muddled, jumping from one stream of consciousness to the next, like a mouse scurrying from cover to cover under the gaze of a watchful predator. He became aware that he was desperately thirsty; that he could taste both blood and grit in his mouth, and that his head and almost all his joints ached unbearably. How long had he been lying like this?

It didn't take long to realise this approach wasn't working. Start instead with the basics. Name. Poe Dameron. Occupation. FBI Agent. Last Case. Kylo Ren and the Starkiller. Those were all the triggers it took to send everything rushing back and Poe, who minutes ago could barely move, found enough strength in his body to sit upright with a jerk. He remembered everything. The factory. The radio report. The fight with Hux and the gun pressed menacingly against his forehead.

He'd been so sure that was it. Wait. Was is it? He really hoped not because otherwise this was going to be a massive anti-climax. Somehow Poe felt death probably wouldn't involve this much pain.

With great difficulty, Poe at last managed to peel his eyelids apart. Licking a dry tongue around the edges of his mouth, Poe realised the taste of copper was a lot stronger on one side. Maybe he had a head wound? They bled like a bitch and would explain why he was having so much trouble with basic tasks.

Finally able to take in his surroundings, Poe glanced left to right – moving his head gingerly. He learned the hard way that every motion sent a bolt of pain stabbing through one side and he was keen not to repeat his mistakes. He was lying in a ditch, mostly caked dirt with a few stunted patches of grass around – particularly near the top of the slope. He guessed that a short way above him was a road – probably one of the endless strips of inter-city highway that criss-crossed the country.

Not a nature expert by any means, Poe couldn’t tell by the flora whether he was near to where Ren and Hux picked him up. He reasoned that they would probably want to get rid of him as quickly as possible – maybe Hux thought he was actually dead? Poe’s foggy memories were reminding him piecemeal that he’d taken several blows to the head prior and during capture – particularly the last one that had knocked him unconscious.

A glance down his body and an experimental wiggle told Poe that his legs remained free, but he couldn’t pull his arms around to the front to help him get up and find his balance. Hux had left the handcuffs on. The bastard. Poe was willing to bet the bruises around his wrists when he finally got out were going to be incredible. Still, if that was all he had to worry about… A third miraculous escape. Here was hoping Ackbar really had quashed Terex’s conspiracy theory because Poe could barely believe it himself.

With the return of his memories came also the heavy weight of grief. Finn and Rey. He needed to know what had happened – needed to know who, if either, of them had made it out of that fire. Poe couldn’t deny a terrible sense of failure was also growing – he should have just shot Kylo when he’d had the chance, when Hux was as under control, and Rey was on hand to help subdue them. But Poe had tried to be the hero, tried to think he could be overly clever and keep everyone safe. Now he understood what they said about good intentions and all that shit.

He couldn’t afford to just sit here though. He was going to have to stand and get up to the edge of the road. He’d not heard any traffic come by since his return to consciousness, but something would have to come and he needed to be visible when it did. And while he waited, Poe would take a fifty-fifty chance on picking a direction and walk. All roads had to end.

He’d reach somewhere and if a voice in his head whispered that if he didn’t find somewhere and maybe ended up dying from dehydration or exposure along the way – then maybe that was all he deserved for this colossal fuck-up. And if he managed to survive, then he would have to consider how he could seek retribution and what that might mean for his future career.

Realising that morbid thoughts would do him no good in the short term, Poe made an effort to push them to the back of his mind. To his right, the sun was starting to dip towards the horizon, the sky stained with a pink-red hue that promised a beautiful sunset. It was warm enough at the moment, but in a few hours Poe would have a whole new set of problems to deal with if he didn’t manage to find shelter or a vehicle to pick him up before dark.

With great difficulty, Poe rolled his body sideways onto his knees. He settled for an awkward half-crawl up the bank – not sure he trusted his legs on an uphill climb just yet. Once he reached the road, another warm gust of wind blew a fine cloud of dust across his face, irritating his eyes and nose. Rubbing his face against his grime-ridden shirt, Poe tried not to think about how dirty he felt, or the blood caked to his face, or the guilt squirming in his stomach.

Forcing his right foot up and then his left, Poe’s aching body assumed a standing position. He wobbled uncertainly, his head swimming and his knees soft. Above him, the sky’s hues became steadily richer – burnt orange threatening to give way to a darker red. At least he knew which way East and West were, not that it helped him with the choice that lay ahead.

Poe glanced once in each direction – the road before him remaining eerily silent. With a shrug of his shoulders and a squared jaw, Poe stopped weighing up possibilities and started walking in the direction of the setting sun. Soon the sky would remind him of the colour of blood and that seemed like an appropriate companion to the thoughts of revenge that would keep him company on the long journey home.

\---

**Epilogue**

Hours before Poe’s rude awakening at the side of the road, Assistant Director Leia Organa stood to one side of a doorframe. She was frankly becoming sick of hospitals and most displeased to return to the place that had helped piece Poe back together months before. As she stood in silence, contemplating the unconscious man in a bed before her, Leia had a sensation that they had come along way whilst somehow ending up not far from where they started. It made her feel very old and very tired.

Their newest Analyst Finn lay motionless as innumerable machines crowded around his bedside, whilst Poe – for whom she couldn’t deny there was a soft, almost maternal spot in her heart – was once again missing. The monitors bleeped every so often and the endless wavy lines monitoring blood pressure, heartbeats, pulse, and whatever other data peaked and troughed in an endless flow of data that was meaningless to her.

What wasn’t meaningless was that her son had put yet another one of her recruits in mortal danger, that he’d sliced Finn’s back open like a piece of meet and the doctors with all their fantastic knowledge and expertise couldn’t tell the extent of the damage or whether he’d walk again. Leia couldn’t pretend she knew Finn well – that she didn’t have questions about his background and the tattoo across his shoulders that Ren’s knife had sheered in two – but he was one of hers and she was meant to protect them. Just like she was supposed to protect Poe – to see that he was brought safely home.

On the far side of the room, slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair, dozed Rey – the local police officer Poe and Finn had largely been responsible for co-opting into this infernal investigation. Her face was pale and still covered in smudges of soot – testament to the fire Rey had helped drag Finn from before the building around them went up in smoke.

Her clothes were filthy and her skin was pale, but even as she slept her lips were pressed together and eyebrows furrowed – as though daring anyone to try and hurt Finn again whilst she was there. Leia notice that she had one hand resting on top of Finn’s – light and cautious, as though she maybe wasn’t sure if her touch would be proper or welcome.

As if she felt Leia’s observation, Rey slowly opened one eye to peer at the older woman. Her gaze wasn’t curious or deferential, it was almost frighteningly blank. When Rey spoke, her voice was quiet, but Leia somehow still had no trouble hearing her words over the ventilator and whatever else was keeping Finn alive.

“I am going to join the FBI. I’ll pass whatever tests, interviews, and training you throw my way. And when I do, you’re going to make sure that I’m assigned to your team and that – somehow – we are able to hunt these monsters down.’

Leia didn’t flinch at the way Rey described her son. She didn’t doubt that Rey could and would do everything that she’d promised. She would be a liar if she wasn’t fractionally alarmed by the emotionless calculation in Rey’s gaze. It reminded her of the way Ben used to look – back in the early days when she hoped that astonishing power of his mind and intellect could be put to the cause of a greater good. However, she also saw a burning determination to right a wrong she knew only too well. It was like looking at a younger version of herself – back before she was stripped of the easy perspective that there was only right and wrong in the world.

Instead of breathing a word of her mixed reaction or listening to the cautious, warning voice in her head, however, Leia only nodded. Maybe here was a chance she had been waiting for – a chance to bring back into the game a weapon, perhaps the only weapon, that might tip the odds more in their favour next time there was a confrontation with her son and his sadistic accomplice. Her gut instinct told her that Rey – with the brightness of her promise – might be the only person who stood a chance of achieving this.

“You could do all of that,” Leia agreed, keeping her own tone even and expression unreadable. “Alternatively, you could take a walk with me for a few minutes. I have a proposition for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song Credits:** _Devil On My Back_ , Stoney  
>  _Castle of Glass_ , Linkin Park


End file.
